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Our Little Celtic Cousin 
of Long Ago 


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THE 

LITTLE COUSINS OF LONG AGO 
SERIES 
-« 8 <~ 

Each volume illustrated with full 'page plates 
in tints. 

Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover. 

Per volume, 60 cents 

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Our Little Athenian Cousin of Long Ago 
Our Little Carthaginian Cousin of Long 
Ago 

Our Little Celtic Cousin of Long Ago 
Our Little Frankish Cousin of Long Ago 
Our Little Macedonian Cousin of Long 
Ago 

Our Little Norman Cousin of Long Ago 
Our Little Roman Cousin of Long Ago 
Our Little Saxon Cousin of Long Ago 
Our Little Spartan Cousin of Long Ago 
Our Little Viking Cousin of Long Ago 
IN PREPARATION 
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THE PAGE COMPANY 
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. 


































The Little Cousins of Long Ago Series 


OUR LITTLE 
CELTIC COUSIN 
OF LONG AGO 

Being the Story of Ferdiad, 
a Boy of Ireland, in the 
Time of Brian Boru 


BY 

EVALEEN STEIN 

Author of “ Our Little Frankish Cousin of Long 
Ago,” “Our Little Norman Cousin 
of Long Ago, * ’ etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

JOHN GOSS 



BOSTON 

THE PAGE COMPANY 
MDCCCCXVIII 




















Copyright, 1918, by 
The Page Company 


All rights reserved 


First Impression, September, 1918 



NOV 29 1918 

©CI.A508354 


✓Vv< \ 




To My Cousin 
Of The Child Heart 
LUCY CLARKSON TORR 



PREFACE 


TO THE BOYS AND GIRLS 
Ages and ages ago, so far back that the 
world has almost forgotten about it, the Celtic 
people had a great empire spreading over a 
large part of Europe. Then, after a long 
while, something happened to break up this em¬ 
pire; nobody knows exactly what, but most 
probably they fought among themselves or with 
other people, or both, or perhaps some stronger 
race swept into their country and thrust them 
out. At any rate, by and by it came about that 
all that was left of the empire of the Celts was 
that part of it which we now call France and 
the British Isles; they called them Gaul and 
Britain and Ireland. 

Meantime the great city of Rome had been 
growing more and more powerful and sending 
her conquering armies everywhere till at last 
vii 


Vlll 


Preface 


she brought most of Europe under her sway. 
And the Celtic people, whose proudest boast 
had been that once upon a time they had cap¬ 
tured the great city, now found themselves 
under her dominion and soon beginning to have 
Roman ideas about things. For no nation 
could be ruled by Rome and be just the same as 
before. There was one part of the Celtic 
lands, however, that did not change, and this 
was Ireland. Far off to the west, for some 
reason she was never visited by the Roman sol¬ 
diers and so managed to keep her affairs all to 
herself. 

Thus several centuries passed; and then, as 
you perhaps know from your histories, Rome 
herself, with all her pride and splendor, was 
conquered and overwhelmed by the wild tribes 
to the north of her, and Europe, which had 
been growing more and more civilized, sank 
back into ignorance and barbarism which it took 
hundreds of years to shake off. 


Preface ix 

But all the while Ireland, off there in the 
western ocean, kept to herself. Just as she was 
not conquered by Rome, neither was she over¬ 
whelmed by the barbarians when Rome fell, but 
kept right on living her Celtic life and doing 
things in her own Celtic way clear down to the 
time when the rest of Europe began to rouse up 
and learn things again. Indeed, the Celtic peo¬ 
ple did much to help wake up Europe; for though 
they had not been conquered by the Romans, 
nevertheless the Celtic scholars had been wise 
enough to study the best books written by them 
and by the Greeks, and these, together with 
much other knowledge which they gained for 
themselves, they kept from being forgotten by 
the world. 

Though it is true that a hundred years after 
the time of our story the Norman race invaded 
Ireland and in the centuries that followed her 
people have gradually changed in many ways 
from the Celts of long ago, yet still the Celtic 


X 


Preface 


blood and the Celtic spirit so lives in Ireland 
that when to-day we speak of the Celts we most 
often mean the Irish rather than those other 
descendants of the old race who still are scat¬ 
tered through many parts of Europe and even 
Asia. 

Now the Celts have always been an interest¬ 
ing people, and those of long ago left many 
things for us to admire and treasure. Though 
they did not build great and beautiful temples 
and palaces whose ruins still speak of past 
glory, as did other races of the old world, yet 
in the more delicate handicrafts no one ever did 
finer work, as is proved by the innumerable 
beautiful objects of gold and silver and enamel 
still to be seen in Irish museums. The lovely 
chalice of Ardagh, the Tara brooch, the cross 
of Cong and the bell-shrine of St. Patrick, these 
are famous beyond Ireland; while as for the 
painted books made by the old-time Celtic 
artists, of the many of surpassing beauty one 


Preface 


xi 


was so marvelous — but, no, I must not tell you 
about it now, for it is part of our story! 

But besides these things which we of to-day 
can see and touch, the Celts of long ago left a 
great deal more. They left to the world an 
inheritance of beautiful myths and romantic 
stories and poems and fairy tales, some of 
which you have perhaps already read as you 
surely will read more of them by and by. 
These belong to every one; but to their own 
children and ever-so-great-great grandchildren, 
down through the centuries, the Celts of long 
ago left an inheritance of delight in beauty, of 
joy in the loveliness of the lovely world about 
us, in the blue sky and the green earth, joy in 
bright and beautiful colors, a love of poetry and 
fairy stories, and, best of all, a way of losing 
themselves in wonderful dreams, dreams some¬ 
times tinged with a wistful sadness, perhaps, yet 
always beautiful. It is this inheritance that so 
marks the Celtic people to-day, wherever they 


Xll 


Preface 


may chance to live, that when we know some 
one who specially loves all these things, we say 
he must have in his veins a strain of Celtic 
blood; and very likely he has. 

But it is high time to get to our story, which 
has been waiting all this while. Our little 
Celtic cousin, Ferdiad, is ready to meet you in 
the first chapter and take you back to the long 
ago, and I hope you and he may become very 
good friends. 

Evaleen Stein. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

Preface .vii 

Pronunciation of Proper Names . . xvi 

I The Tailltenn Fair .i 

II Ferdiad and Conn See the Sights . n 

III The High King Comes to the Fair . 25 

IV The Story of the DeDanaans . . 39 

V The Hall of Feasting . . . . .49 

VI Kells Is Raided.58 

VII The New Home at Kinkora ... 73 

VIII How Cuculain Got His Name . . 83 

IX On the March . . . . *. . .90 

X The Battle of Clontarf . . . .101 

XI Ferdiad and the Dane Prisoner . . 108 

XII The Book of Kells.116 















List of Illustrations 


/ 


PAGE 

Ferdiad ....... Frontispiece 

“They picked out the boat in which they had 

COME ”.24 

“ Ferdiad’s eyes grew wide with horror ” 69 y / 

“Thus it was the soothsayer’s prophecy was ful- 

1 

FILLED 107 

“ He was standing in front of a tall, cruel looking 


/ 


MAN 


. no y 


“ THE DRIFTING LEAVES HAD PROTECTED IT FROM THE 


WEATHER 


• • 


123 


,/ 




PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES 
AND SOME OTHER WORDS 

Aibell fee' bell) 


Ardagh (ar' dah) 
Armagh (armah') 

An' gus 
Bo-aire' 

Bri' an Bo ru' 

Celt (selt) 

Cion tarf' 

Col' um kille' 

Con' co bar' 

Cuculain (koo koo' lin) 
Curragh (kur' ach) 
Dec' ter a 
De Dan' aans 
Dun (doon) 


Eileen (i leen') 
Fer' di ad 

Fianna (feean'na) 
Fir' bolg 
Green' an 
Killaloe (kilalo') 
Kin kor' a 
Lugh (loo) 

Mun' ster 
Meath (meeth) 

Ol' lave 
Se tan'ta 
Taill' tenn 
Torque (tork) 


Our Little Celtic Cousin 
of Long Ago 


CHAPTER I 

THE TAILLTENN FAIR 

The August sun was shining brightly over 
the Irish meadows skirting a narrow river that 
glittered with such a silvery light you would 
never have thought its name was the Black- 
water. Neither would you have supposed the 
place on its bank in front of which were moored 
scores of oddly built boats was really the very 
tiny old village of Tailltenn. No, you would 
have declared that it was a gay though rather 
queer looking city, and could scarcely have be¬ 
lieved that in a week’s time all its noise and 



2 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

bustle would vanish and only the few wattled 
houses of the little village be left. 

For Tailltenn in August, when its great fair 
was held, and Tailltenn the rest of the year 
were two very different places. 

But never mind about Tailltenn the rest of 
the year, for our story begins right in the mid¬ 
dle of the fair, which was surprisingly like our 
fairs of to-day. And this seems strange, con¬ 
sidering that it was almost exactly nine hundred 
years ago; that is to say, it was August of the 
year 1013. 

But people nine hundred years ago liked to 
show and buy things and enjoyed racing and 
games and entertainment of all kinds just as well 
as we do, and any one who could amuse was 
sure to have plenty of folks looking on. So 
it was that the Celtic boy, Ferdiad, who had 
stopped to watch a specially skilful juggler, 
soon found himself squeezed into a crowded 
circle of people and presently a red-headed lad 


The Tailltenn Fair 


3 

of about his own age was pushed close beside 
him. 

Both smiled good-naturedly, and, “Look! ” 
cried Ferdiad, bending his eyes on the juggler, 
“ I have counted, and he has nine swords and 
nine little silver shields and nine balls, and he 
keeps them all up in the air at once and hasn’t 
let one fall! ” 

“ He’s the best I ever saw! ” said the other 
boy gazing admiringly at the man, who was 
dressed in a loose tunic of saffron-colored linen 
with a wide girdle of scarlet. On his legs were 
long tight-fitting trousers of the same material 
and his shoes were of thick leather without 
heels and laced with red cords. A short scarlet 
cape with a pointed hood lay on the ground 
where he had thrown it when he began his 
performance. 

Suddenly, with a few dextrous movements, 
he caught one by one the balls and swords and 
shields he had been tossing about, and snatch- 


4 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

ing up one of the latter began passing it among 
the crowd. 

A few small silver coins were dropped into 
it and two or three little silver rings which often 
passed instead of coins. People used but little 
regular money and generally paid for things 
by exchanging something else for them, as per¬ 
haps a measure of wheat or honey, which every 
one liked; or, if the thing bought was valuable, 
often a cow or two did for money. 

As now the juggler was coming their way 
with his shield, the two boys strolled off to¬ 
gether; for though each had a few silver rings 
tucked into his girdle for spending money, they 
had other plans for disposing of these. 

When they had gone a short distance they 
stopped and looked each other over. Both 
were tall and straight and well grown for their 
age, which was about twelve years; and their 
bare heads shone in the sunlight, Ferdiad’s as 
yellow as the other boy’s was red. Ferdiad 


The Tailltenn Fair 5 

wore a tight scarlet jacket with sleeves striped 
with green and a kilted skirt reaching just above 
his bare knees; below them were leggins of 
soft leather laced with cords tipped with silver 
as were also his moccasin-like shoes. He had a 
short cape made of strips of brown and green 
cloth sewn together, but as the day was warm 
this hung over one shoulder and was only loosely 
fastened by a silver brooch. The other boy, 
who had come from a little different part of the 
country, was dressed in the fashion of his own 
home. His jacket was much like Ferdiad’s 
except that it was yellow, and instead 
of kilts he wore long tight-fitting trousers of 
gray; his cape also was gray figured with 
black. 

Presently he said to Ferdiad, with a frank 
smile, “ My name is Conn and my home is in 
the kingdom of Munster where my father is a 
bo-aire. I guess yours must be a flaith from 
the colors of your clothes. My foster-father 


6 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

is a bo-aire, too, and we came to the fair this 
morning in our chariot and I drove all the way 
from near Kinkora where we live. What is 
your name? ” 

“ Ferdiad O’Neill,” answered Ferdiad; but 
seeing Conn look bewildered, “ O’Neill,” he 
explained, “means my father’s name is Neill; 
you know ‘ O ’ stands for son of.” 

“ Yes,” said Conn in surprise, “ but why do 
you have two names? ” 

“ Well,” replied Ferdiad, “ my father says 
that the high king, Brian Boru, wants people 
to start having two names instead of just one. 
You see, if each family settles on a second 
name that they can add to their first, then you 
can tell better who folks are and who are their 
kin. My father, who is a flaith as you guessed, 
don’t want to put anything after his own name 
for every one in the kingdom of Meath, where 
my home is, knows him as Neill. But he says 
I may as well begin with the two names. I 


The Tailltenn Fair 


7 

suppose everybody will have family names 
afterwhile.” 

“ I suppose so,” said Conn, who had been 
listening with interest. “ I hadn’t heard about 
it before, but if you can start a family name 
by adding ‘ O ’ to your father’s, then I would 
be Conn O’Keefe! ” and he laughed at the odd 
new fashion. “ But,” he went on, u who is 
your foster-father? ” 

“ He is Angus the poet,” answered Ferdiad 
with a touch of pride. “ We live beyond Kells 
on the Blackwater, and we all came to the fair 
yesterday. We rowed down the river in our 
curragh.” 

Now do not suppose that these two boys 
were orphans because they talked about their 
foster-fathers. Far from it! In fact, most 
Celtic boys, and many girls too, were extra 
well supplied with parents; for they usually had 
not only their own real fathers and mothers 
but also the foster-fathers and mothers with 


8 


Our Little Celtic Cousin 


whom they lived from the time they were seven, 
or even younger, until they were seventeen. 
This custom of putting children to be trained in 
the home of some one else seems strange to us, 
but the Celtic people of those days thought it 
the best way to bring them up. Sometimes 
their foster-parents were close friends of their 
own fathers and mothers and took the children 
for the sake of the affection they felt for one 
another; and sometimes people placed their chil¬ 
dren with some one they thought specially fitted 
to train them, and then they paid a certain sum 
of money for it, or, more likely, a number of 
cows. 

For the Celtic people then had no large cities 
and few towns even, but lived mostly in the 
country and the more cows they had the better 
off they considered themselves. They were 
divided into tribes or clans with chiefs of dif¬ 
ferent degrees of rank. A bo-aire, as was 
Conn’s father, though a respectable chief, 


The Tailltenn Fair 9 

owned no land but was obliged to rent it of 
some higher chief, or flaith, such as Ferdiad’s 
father; but a bo-aire always had plenty of 
cattle of his own. So probably Conn’s foster- 
father received enough fat cows to pay for the 
support of the boy. 

Indeed, the Celtic laws decided just what 
must be paid for feeding and clothing foster 
children, and decided also, according to their 
rank, what they should eat and wear; and every 
one paid a great deal of attention to the laws. 
It was because of these that Conn had barley 
porridge with a lump of salty butter on it for 
breakfast while Ferdiad ate oatmeal with salt¬ 
less butter which was considered finer; if either 
had been a king’s son he would have had honey 
on his porridge. And because of these same 
laws Conn and Ferdiad at once knew each 
other’s rank; for sons of flaiths might wear 
red, green and brown clothes, while the colors 
for boys of bo-aires were yellow, black and gray. 


10 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

But while we have been talking about them, 
the boys have not been standing still. They 
had decided at once to be friends, and “ My 
foster-father said I was to go around and find 
what I wanted to look at,” said Conn, “ but I 
think it would be more fun seeing the fair to¬ 
gether.” 

“ So do I! ” answered Ferdiad. “ Let’s look 
around and see what’s going on.” 


CHAPTER II 


FERDIAD AND CONN SEE THE SIGHTS 

The boys were just starting off together 
when a sudden shouting arose. 

“ 0 , look over there!” cried Ferdiad, “I 
believe they are beginning to course the 
hounds!” 

Both lads ran across a space of green grass 
to where a low wattled fence enclosed a large 
oval race-course. People were gathered about 
it talking excitedly as they watched the lively 
capers of a dozen or more large wolf hounds 
that several men held in leash by long leather 
thongs. The dogs were straining impatiently 
at their collars, and the moment the signal was 
given and they were unleashed, “ Br-rh-rh-rh- 
rh-rh!! ” off they darted, their noses pointing 


ii 


12 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


straight ahead and their long legs and powerful 
bodies bounding past so swiftly that neither 
Ferdiad nor Conn could make out one from an¬ 
other. 

But in a few moments the fastest began to 
sweep ahead, and Conn cried out excitedly, 
“ Look! Look! That big light brown one I 
picked out is leading! ” 

“Not now!” called back Ferdiad, as they 
hurried along the fence following the racing 
dogs with their eyes. “ No! now it’s the one 
with the white tip to his tail! ” 

“ Whew! ” shouted Conn, as “ Br-rh-rh-rh- 
rh-rli! ” with a deep roar the baying pack swept 
past again, “ If there isn’t that bright blue one 
that was ’way behind leading them all now! ” 
And, sure enough, when the panting hounds 
came around the last quarter of the track it was 
the bright blue that leaped first across the streak 
of white lime that marked the goal. There 
was a great shouting and clapping of hands by 


Ferdiad and Conn 13 

the bystanders as the tired dogs were led off. 

“Whose hound was it that won? Do you 
know? ” asked Conn of Ferdiad. 

“ I heard a man say he belonged to Prince 
Cormac of Cromarty,” answered Ferdiad. 
“ They say the prize is an enameled dog-collar 
and a leather leash trimmed with silver. I 
wonder when the high king will give it to him? ” 

“ Not till the end of the fair, boy,” said a 
tall man standing near. “ The high king isn’t 
here yet but is coming to-morrow, and there 
will be games and chariot races yet, and, last of 
all, the poets’ and story-tellers’ contest.” 

“ Well,” said Conn as the boys turned away, 
“ that hound race was good,— but I never 
thought the blue one would win! He was such 
a handsome color I suppose Prince Cormac 
must have had him specially dyed for the fair.” 

“ I dare say,” said Ferdiad, “ but I have a 
green hound at home that is just as handsome, 
and my foster-mother says when she colors the 


14 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

next wool she spins maybe she will have enough 
red left to dye another one.” 

For the Celts thought oddly colored animals 
very pretty, and women when they dyed the 
yarn which they all spun for themselves often 
emptied what was left in their dye-pots over the 
family pets. So a purple cat or blue or red 
dog was no uncommon sight. 

But the boys had wandered off from the race 
track and had come to an open space where 
were a number of booths covered with green 
boughs. Here merchants were selling all sorts 
of things; there were bows and arrows, swords, 
shields and spears, bronze horns and trumpets 
and harps, homespun woolen and linen cloth, 
and fine silks from beyond the sea, and there 
were wonderful bracelets and necklaces and 
torques, a kind of twisted collar, and brooches, 
all of finely wrought gold and silver; for the 
Celts, both men and women, loved to wear 
quantities of golden ornaments and nowhere in 


Ferdiad and Conn 


15 

all the world were more skilful goldsmiths than 
theirs. 

In one of the better built booths covered with 
a thatched roof several scribes were busy. 
Each held in his lap a thin board with a sheet 
of vellum on which he wrote, dipping his swan- 
feather pen into ink held in the tip of a cow’s 
horn fastened to the arm of his chair. Some 
were writing letters for people who had no ink 
or vellum of their own or perhaps could not 
write themselves; while others were copying 
from books beside them, all of which were for 
sale. No one had dreamed yet of printing 
books on presses, so copying them by hand was 
the only way to make them. Some of the books 
had initial letters painted in gold and colors, and 
as the boys passed they looked critically at 
these. 

“ They are not so well done as some at the 
Kinkora monastery where I go to school,” said 
Conn. For the most beautiful books were 


16 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

made by the patient hands of the Celtic 
monks. 

“ No,” said Ferdiad, “ I dare say not. And 
they can’t compare with the books at the mon¬ 
astery of Kells near where we live. 

“ Oh,” he went on eagerly, “ you just ought 
to see the Great Gospel of Saint Columkille 
that is kept at Kells! The monks there say 
there’s nothing like it in the whole world! ” 

“ I’ve heard something of that book,” said 
Conn, “ but I don’t know much about it. What 
is it?” 

“ Well,” answered Ferdiad, “ it’s hundreds 
of years old and painted with the most wonder¬ 
ful borders and initials and pictures that any¬ 
body ever made! The patterns are so fine and 
the lines lace in and out so perfectly that they 
say if your eyes are sharp enough you can count 
hundreds of loops and ornaments on a spot 
no wider than your finger! ” 

“ I don’t see how anybody ever painted pat- 


Ferdiad and Conn 17 

terns like that!” said Conn. “Who made 
it?” 

“ Nobody knows for sure,” answered Fer¬ 
diad. “ Some say Saint Columkille had it made 
and some say he did it himself. But everybody 
declares that whoever painted it, an angel must 
have guided his hand, for nobody could have 
done it without help from Heaven. And then 
the book has the most wonderful gold case you 
ever saw!” For most handsome books then 
each had its own box-like case of gold or silver 
or carved wood or ivory. 

Just then a horse’s whinney caught the boys’ 
attention and they went over to the pens where 
horses and sheep and cows were for sale, and 
enormous wolf-hounds some of them as large 
as calves. Around these hounds especially was 
always a crowd of interested buyers, for the 
Celts delighted in racing them; also these power¬ 
ful dogs were useful in protecting their homes 
at night and in chasing off the packs of wolves 


18 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


that roamed through the great wild forests that 
covered so much of the land. Presently both 
boys began to sniff hungrily as they came to that 
part of the fair where food was being sold. 

“Let’s get something to eat!” said Conn, 
“ Aren’t you hungry? ” 

“ Yes,” said Ferdiad, looking up at the sun, 
“it’s past midday!” And they made their 
way toward the nearest booth. Beside it was 
an open fire and over this hung a great bronze 
kettle in which pieces of meat were boiling. A 
man in cook’s cap and apron stood by with a 
long hook of bronze. 

“ We would like some of your meat, sir,” said 
Ferdiad, and at once the man hooked out some 
pieces which he placed on an earthen platter; 
this he set on a low wooden table on the grass 
beside him, and the boys sitting down on the 
ground began eating with their fingers as peo¬ 
ple did then. They finished with some milk 
served in cups hollowed out of yew wood and 


Ferdiad and Conn 19 

some wheaten cakes which the cook’s wife had 
kneaded up with honey and baked on a flat hot 
stone in front of the fire. 

When the boys had eaten, “You be my guest, 
Conn,” said Ferdiad as he paid the man with 
one of the small silver rings he took from his 
girdle. 

By this time the crowd seemed to be mov¬ 
ing toward the grassy space within the race 
track, so of course Ferdiad and Conn went 
along. When they reached the place a wrest¬ 
ling match had already begun and after that 
was running and jumping and quoit throwing 
and fencing contests, and all the while there was 
a blaring of trumpets and blowing of great 
horns or else somebody was twanging on a harp 
or shaking castanets of bone, keeping up a 
noise and excitement for all the world like fairs 
of to-day. 

When the sports were over the afternoon was 
almost spent and Ferdiad and Conn fairly tired 


20 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

of sight seeing. “ Come on,” said Ferdiad, 
“ let’s go find our curragh and take a row on 
the river before you go back to your foster- 
father.” 

“All right! ” said Conn, and off they went 
toward the river. Near its bank was another 
grassy space and scattered through it a number 
of houses, all of them round; for that was the 
shape most Celtic people preferred Each was 
built of poles placed upright in the ground form¬ 
ing a circle; long rods of hazel from which the 
bark had been peeled were woven between the 
poles, making a wattled wall, and the cone- 
shaped roof was thatched with rushes. These 
houses, which belonged to the fair and had been 
built long before for the use of the high-born 
people attending it, had been freshened up with 
coats of lime, some glistening, dazzling white 
in the sunlight, and others decorated with bright 
stripes in different colors. 

Several gayly dressed ladies were walking 



Ferdiad and Conn 


21 


about and there was a sound of harpstrings in 
the air. “ Are those queens? ” asked Conn of 
Ferdiad, for it was his first visit to the fair 
and he had found Ferdiad had been there be¬ 
fore. 

“ Yes,” said Ferdiad, “ and my foster-mother 
is one of the ladies attending the Queen of 
Meath, so she and my foster-sister, Eileen, 
stay in that striped house under the big quicken 
tree. These houses are for the queens and 
their ladies and those yonder are for the 
kings.” 

For you must know that Ireland was a land 
not only of many kinds of parents but also of 
quantities of kings and queens. The country 
was divided into ever so many little kingdoms 
belonging to different tribes or clans, and, as 
I have told you, in these tribes were many 
chiefs or flaiths of different degrees of rank, but 
over them all in each kingdom was the king. 
Some of the kingdoms were larger and stronger 


22 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


than others, so the kings varied in power; but 
none of them was so important as the high king 
who ruled them all just as each of them ruled 
the chiefs under him. But though the high king 
was called the King of Ireland, the smaller 
kings fought and quarreled so much among 
themselves, and so many bold chiefs from coun¬ 
tries near by were always trying to gain a foot¬ 
hold in Ireland that the high king seldom really 
governed the whole land. However, the one 
who came nearest to doing it was the great 
Brian Boru, who hadn’t come to the fair yet 
but was expected the next day. Ferdiad 
pointed out to Conn a long wooden house 
built on top of a grassy mound in the middle 
of the fair where the high king would stay, 
and close beside it another large building 
where he would give a great feast in the 
evening. 

Meantime all the other fifteen or twenty 
kings with their queens and followers were hav- 


Ferdiad and Conn 23 

ing the best kind of a time and behaving in the 
politest way to each other; for no matter how 
much they fought at other times, no one dared 
to start a quarrel at any of the great Celtic 
fairs, for everybody knew perfectly well that 
the punishment was death. 

But Ferdiad and Conn had come to the 
water’s edge and were just looking for the 
right boat when a little girl with flying yellow 
curls came racing toward them, her blue mantle 
fluttering and her little sandaled feet twinkling 
as she ran. “ O, Ferdiad,” she called out, “ I 
was just wishing you would come! Mother 
says I may go for a little ride on the river if 
you will take me! ” 

Then seeing Conn, whom she had not noticed 
in her eagerness, she drew back with a touch of 
bashfulness. / 

“ This is my new friend Conn, from Mun¬ 
ster,” explained Ferdiad, “ and he is going with 
us. Conn,” he added turning to the boy who 


24 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

was staring shyly at the little girl, “ this is my 
foster-sister, Eileen.” 

At this Eileen, with a friendly smile for the 
new friend, took Ferdiad’s hand as he helped 
her clamber down the bank and they picked 
out the boat in which they had come to the 
fair. It was the kind the Celts called a “ cur- 
ragh ” and was made of wickerwork covered 
with tanned cow-hides which had been stained 
a dark red. When Eileen had stepped daintily 
in and seated herself and the boys followed, 
“ Let’s go across the river and see how the fair 
looks from the other side,” she said, “ and then 
let’s go around the bend and back! ” 

And Ferdiad and Conn taking up the long 
oars of hickory did exactly as Eileen com¬ 
manded. 



THEY PICKED OUT THE BOAT IN WHICH THEY HAD COME 










































































































































CHAPTER III 


THE HIGH KING COMES TO THE FAIR 

“ Father, father! ” called Eileen the morn¬ 
ing after the boat ride, as she ran out of the 
round wattled house where she and her mother 
had slept. 

She had caught sight of a tall man coming 
swiftly toward her, and in a moment he stooped 
and kissing her rosy cheek three times lifted her 
in his arms so she could nestle her golden head 
on his bosom in the pretty Celtic fashion of 
greeting those one loved. 

“ O, father,’’ she said, as hand in hand they 
went to meet her mother, Fianna, who had just 
stepped out into the sunshine, “ isn’t this the 
day you sing your song before the high king? ” 

“ Yes, child,” answered her father smiling, 


25 


26 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

“ but do not be too sure I shall win the prize. 
There are many fine poets here and everybody 
thinks the prize will not be the jeweled ring 
only, but that Brian Boru will choose the win¬ 
ner for his chief poet in place of Niall who 
is dead. You know I told you Niall was a 
great master of his art, so the high king will 
not be easy to please.” 

Eileen laughed confidently, “ So are you a 
master!” she declared. Then, “Where is 
Ferdiad?” she asked. 

“ He will be along in a minute,” answered 
her father; “ the poets’ house was so crowded 
last night he went off and slept in the tent 
with his friend Conn and his foster- 
father.” 

As the three stood waiting for Ferdiad, you 
would have thought them a handsome family. 
Eileen’s yellow curls, white skin and oval face 
were like her mother’s, and she was dressed in 
much the same fashion only that her close-fit- 


The High King 27 

ting tunic and narrow clinging skirt of figured 
green and white linen were not so long as her 
mother’s yellow and white ones, and her bratt 
(which was the Celtic name for the loose mantle 
almost every one wore), was blue instead of 
green striped. Her head was bare while her 
mother’s was partly covered with folds of fine 
filmy linen; but both had the same kind of 
sandals on their feet. 

Angus, Eileen’s father, was tall and straight; 
his long light hair was parted and hung over 
his shoulders in carefully twisted strands while 
his beard also was parted and curled in fork- 
shape, a very fashionable way. He wore a 
crimson jacket, olive green trousers, and shoes 
of brown leather embroidered in gold; round 
his jacket was a saffron-colored girdle, his cape 
was of checkered turquoise blue and black, 
fastened with a large silver brooch, and on his 
head was a saffron yellow pointed cap with a 
very narrow brim. Now if you have counted 


28 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


the colors in his clothes you will know there 
were six; and any Celt could have told you that 
meant that poets were thought so much of that 
they ranked next to kings; for no one else was 
allowed to wear six colors at once. To do so 
was considered a great honor, for everybody 
delighted in the brightest colors; but people 
who were neither kings nor poets had to be sat¬ 
isfied with five or less, according to their rank, 
down to the poor slaves who could wear only a 
single coarse garment of gray. 

Eileen’s father carried in his hand a small 
quaintly shaped harp with strings of bronze; 
though he was not playing on it, yet as he 
walked along there was always a sweet tinkling 
sound. That was because fastened to his 
pointed cap was a musical branch such as all 
Celtic poets wore. It was curving like a little 
bough from a tree, only it was made of silver 
and in place of leaves was hung with tiny silver 
bells. This meant that Angus ranked as an 


The High King 29 

ollave, or master poet, and had studied his art 
for seven years. If he had been a poet less 
skillful his musical branch would have been 
bronze, while, on the other hand, the chief poet 
of the high king wore one of pure gold. 

But Ferdiad had already come up and been 
kissed three times by Angus and Fianna, and 
then they began planning the day, for next morn¬ 
ing they were to return home. 

“ Eileen,” said her mother, “ you and I will 
go to the merchants’ booths. I want to buy 
some things before we go home, and perhaps I 
will get a new necklace and bracelets for you; 
then we must see the embroidering women, for 
the queen’s ladies say they make beautiful 
things.” 

Eileen had half wanted to go along with 
Ferdiad and Conn, but her eyes sparkled at 
the prospect of buying some new finery, so she 
was quite satisfied with her mother’s plan. 

“ Then you boys can put in the morning to- 


30 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

gether,” said Angus, “ and I will be free to 
practice my new song for the contest.” 

“ O, father,” cried Eileen, “ can’t we hear 
it?” 

“ No,” answered Angus, “ that is to be in 
the Hall of Feasting this evening, and only the 
chief grown folks will be there. But then,” 
he added, seeing the disappointment in her face, 
“ there are to be story-tellers on the fair green 
this afternoon, and you children can go there.” 

So presently off they scattered, Angus stroll¬ 
ing down to a quiet place on the river bank, 
Eileen tripping along beside her mother, while 
Ferdiad hurried over to the race course where 
he was to meet Conn. 

“ Well,” said the latter, who was eagerly 
watching for him, “ you are just in time for 
the morning races. They are to be with horses 
and chariots to-day instead of hounds.” 

Sure enough, there was a tremendous squeak¬ 
ing of axles as a number of two-wheeled chariots 


The High King 31 

were being driven toward the track. All were 
made of wicker strengthened by a framework 
of wood, and their seven-spoked wheels were 
rimmed with bronze. Some were quite open 
and others gayly canopied, and each held two 
persons; one who merely rode, and the 
charioteer who sat nearest the front and drove 
the horses. 

As chariot after chariot came along, the boys 
looked at them with interest. “ Just see that 
one! ” Ferdiad said, “ how fine the wickerwork 
is and what handsome bridle reins all covered 
with red enamel! ” 

“ Yes,” said Conn, “ and there comes an¬ 
other just as fine with a blue canopy and silver 
trimmed reins.” 

All the while the crowd was becoming larger 
and larger and presently an extra loud squeak¬ 
ing arose. 

“ My! ” exclaimed Ferdiad, “ that must be 
somebody important coming! Do hear what a 


32 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

noise his chariot makes! ” For Celtic people 
thought it very fine to attract attention as they 
drove along and the more noise their wheels 
made the better they liked it. 

By this time everybody was looking in the 
same direction and as the chariot came nearer, 
“I should think it is somebody important!” 
said Conn. “Why, that is the high king! 
I’ve often seen him at Kinkora; you know his 
palace is there.” 

It was Brian Boru, who had just come to 
the fair. In front of him walked four stalwart 
soldiers each carrying a battle ax. His chariot 
was of the finest wicker with a purple canopy 
embroidered in gold, and the two horses draw¬ 
ing it were snow-white with ears dyed scarlet 
while their long manes and tails were royal 
purple and their harness was richly decorated 
with gold. 

The chariot stopped at a wooden pavilion 
overlooking the race course, and the high king 


The High King 33 

alighted and took his place on a seat piled with 
deerskin cushions. 

The boys had been staring hard at every¬ 
thing. “ I didn’t remember Brian Boru was so 
old!” whispered Ferdiad, who had only 
glimpsed the high king at the fair the year 
before. “ But he’s handsome yet! ” 

“ Yes,” said Conn, “ he’s far past eighty but 
he’s mighty good-looking.” Indeed, most Cel¬ 
tic kings were; for the simple reason that they 
were not allowed to reign if they bore the slight¬ 
est blemish on face or body. 

The high king was of course dressed in six 
colors and his mantle of purple silk fringed 
with gold was fastened with a wonderiul brooch 
so large that it reached from shoulder to shoul¬ 
der. His long beard was parted fork-shape 
and from beneath his crown, which covered 
his head like a golden hat, his hair fell in 
twisted strands ornamented with hollow golden 
balls, which were thought very stylish. Around 


34 O u r Little Celtic Cousin 

his neck was a handsome golden torque and 
many rich bracelets covered his arms. 

When the high king had seated himself a 
group of men who had followed his chariot 
ranged themselves behind him, while the sol¬ 
diers stood at each side as guard. 

“ Who do you suppose all those people are 
around the high king?” said Conn. “There 
are ten, not counting the soldiers.” 

“ Well,” said Ferdiad, “ my foster-father 
told me that at important places like this at 
least ten people always go around with the 
high king. Let me see,— one must be a 
bishop,—” 

“ Yes,” interrupted Conn, “ he must be the 
one with the top of his head shaved and the 
little gold box hanging to his necklace. You 
know bishops carry bits of parchment with 
verses from the Bible written on them in those 
boxes.” 

“ Then,” went on Ferdiad, “ one must be a 


The High King 35 

chief,— maybe it’s that one with the red and 
green spotted bratt and the fine torque. And 
there’s always a poet, but, of course, since 
Niall’s dead and the high king hasn’t chosen 
a new one yet, I guess that must be another 
chief standing where the poet belongs.” 

“ And that one with the harp and trumpets 
anybody knows is a musician,” put in Conn, 
“ and it’s easy enough, too, to tell that the tall 
man with the leather herb bag at his girdle is 
a doctor, but who are those two standing be¬ 
side him? ” 

“ I don’t know which is which,” said Ferdiad 
looking perplexed, “ but they must be the his¬ 
torian and lawyer, for you can see from their 
looks and the colors of their clothes that those 
other three are servants.” 

By this time a number of other kings and 
their followers had seated themselves in the 
pavilion, while in another one near by were 
various queens and their ladies all in the bright- 


36 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

est colors and with many flashing ornaments of 
gold. 

Presently the high king’s musician began 
blowing one of his great trumpets and the 
races began. There was a sudden thud of 
bronze-shod hoofs swiftly printing the ground, 
a glimpse of flying manes and tails, of panting 
nostrils and taut glittering reins, of rushing 
chariots and charioteers straining forward with 
long whips in their hands, and, above all, the 
excited shouting of the crowd; all of which 
proves, as I have told you, that the Celtic peo¬ 
ple of long ago liked racing and managed it at 
their fairs surprisingly the same as we do. 

Of course Ferdiad and Conn stayed till the 
last race; then they got something to eat and 
went over to the fair green where they were 
to meet Eileen and hear the story teller. On 
their way they saw the high king’s chariot go¬ 
ing toward the mound where stood the great 
Hall of Feasting. 


The High King 37 

“ Why,” said Conn, “ I thought the feast 
wasn’t to be till this evening?” 

“ It isn’t, boy,” said a man wearing a sol¬ 
dier’s helmet and tunic with a short sword stuck 
into his girdle; one arm was thrust through the 
leather holder of a small round shield, though 
he carried these things only because it was the 
custom of soldiers, not that he expected to fight 
at the fair, for that, you know, was forbidden. 
“ The high king is going to the meeting of all 
the kings and chiefs which they have every year 
in the Hall over there. They hold the meet¬ 
ing to talk over the affairs of Ireland,— and 
there’s enough to talk about now, youngsters! ” 
went on the soldier. “ The way those pirate 
Danes are coming over here in their long ships 
and fighting and robbing and burning folks’ 
houses has got to be stopped some way,” and 
the soldier’s eyes flashed as he fiercely shook 
his round shield. 

“ That’s what my foster-father thinks! ” 


38 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

cried Ferdiad. “ He says they have been grow¬ 
ing bolder and bolder ever since they captured 
the fort at the Ford of the Hurdles.” (This 
fort was on the river Liffey where the city of 
Dublin now stands.) “ He says, too, he 
wouldn’t be surprised any day to see them come 
up the Blackwater in their long boats and raid 
us!” 

“Why don’t your king drive them off?” 
asked Co 

“ Well,” said Ferdiad, “ I guess our king of 
Meath is as brave as anybody. But my foster- 
father says it will take more than one king’s 
army to drive off those Danes! ” 

“ That’s a true word, son! ” said the sol¬ 
dier. “ It’s work for our best Celtic fighters, 
and I guess that is what the high king will tell 
them. And I hope the battle will soon be on! ” 
And the soldier strode off looking very fierce 
and warlike. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE STORY OF THE DEDANAANS 

When the boys came to the fair green a 
large circle of people had already gathered to 
listen to the story tellers, for they liked these 
almost better than the racing. Several men 
in gay mantles stood in the midst of the circle 
tuning the small harps they carried; for usually 
parts of the stories were in poetry and this 
they always chanted to the music of their harps. 
Ferdiad and Conn, however, did not stop here 
but passed beyond where was a smaller group 
made up of the boys and girls who had come to 
the fair and who had a story teller especially 
for them. All were seated on the grass and the 
two lads soon found a place by Eileen who was 
watching for them. 


39 


40 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

“ Did you have a good time this morning? ” 
asked Ferdiad. 

“ Yes,” declared Eileen, beaming; “ see this 
lovely torque mother bought me, and she got 
some wonderful silk of the merchants from 
Gaul,”—here she paused,—“Hush I” she 
whispered. “ See! they are going to shake the 
chain of silence! ” 

A tall man had arisen shaking in his hand a 
short chain of bronze hung with silver bells, 
and at this signal every one stopped talking, and 
Fergus, the story teller, stood up ready to be¬ 
gin. Those for the grown folks circle were al¬ 
ready asking their hearers if they would rather 
listen to stories of battles, of cattle raids, court¬ 
ships, fairies, or histories of Ireland; for to 
be a story teller in those days was no simple 
matter; one must study for years and was ex¬ 
pected to have hundreds of different stories in 
his mind ready to tell at a moment’s notice. 
It was by listening to these that the great mass 


The Story of the DeDanaans 41 

of people got not only entertainment but edu¬ 
cation. 

But while the grown folks were choosing, the 
children’s story teller had decided to tell some¬ 
thing of the people who had lived in Ireland 
before the coming of the Celts. 

“ Long, long ago,” he began, “ our beauti¬ 
ful land was the home of many different people. 
One after another they came, the newcomers 
fighting and driving out the others, till at last 
a race called the Firbolgs held sway. After 
they had been here for some time, one day away 
up somewhere to the north of us a strange rose- 
colored cloud floated over the seashore, and 
when it melted away the Firbolgs found that a 
great number of strangers had landed from 
boats which they themselves at once burned, 
showing that they meant to stay.” 

“ They were the DeDanaans! ” cried some 

of the children, “ and they live now in the fairy 

* 

mounds! ” for every one had heard of these 


4-2 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

marvelous strangers the memory of whom is 
still cherished in Ireland. 

“Yes,” went on Fergus, “they were the 
DeDanaans; but though wise in all magic arts, 
they lived above ground and had not yet be¬ 
come fairies. They were a beautiful god-like 
people with fair skins and blue eyes and hair 
as yellow as cowslips.” 

“Where did they come from, sir?” asked 
Conn, who had been listening attentively. 

“ From the ‘ Land of the Ever Young/ ” 
answered Fergus. 

“And where is that, sir?” ventured Conn 
once more. 

“ Well, boy,” said Fergus, a bit severely, 
“ it is called also the ‘ Land of the Ever Liv¬ 
ing/ which is the same as the * Land of the 
Dead/ ” and Conn said no more. 

“ The Firbolgs,” continued Fergus, “ talked 
to the DeDanaans and at first thought they 
would not fight them. Then they began saying 


The Story of the DeDanaans 43 

among themselves how slim and light were the 
spears of the strangers, who were a slender 
people, while their own were big and heavy 
like they were. So deciding they were much 
stronger and better armed, they went back and 
attacked the DeDanaans. But they were ter¬ 
ribly fooled in the strangers, who threw their 
light sharp spears much faster and farther 
than the clumsy ones of the Firbolgs. So the 
golden-haired DeDanaans won the battle, 
though they did not drive the Firbolgs frorr 
Ireland but let them still keep a certain n*rt 
for theirs. 

Now the DeDanaans were a wond^ful P eo ‘ 
pie, full of wisdom and skilled ir the arts of 
magic and in the making of beautiful things. 
They had come from four of the chief fairy 
cities in the Land of the Fver Young, and from 
each they brought a precious gift; there was an 
invincible sword, a magic spear, an enchanted 
cauldron from which hosts of men might be 


44 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

fed and it would never be empty, but most won¬ 
derful of all was the Stone of Destiny, and on 
this all the high kings of Ireland, for hundreds 
of years, stood when they were crowned.” 

“ My foster-father said it always roared 
when the crown was set on the king’s headl ” 
broke in Ferdiad. 

“ Yes, indeed, boy,” said Fergus, “ it roared 
like a lion; but only if the king was lawful. If 
he had no right to the crown then the stone 
yas silent, and you may be sure there was 
tlv yble ahead for the false king.” 

(here is the stone now?” asked another 

boy. 

“Well,’ sa id Fergus, “for a long time it 
was kept at T\ra, the ancient Celtic capital,”— 
Here another boy broke in, “ When we came 
to the fair, about ten miles from here we passed 
a great big mound w\th an earth rampart 
around it and old looking ruins that my father 
said was Tara. What happened to it? ” 


The Story of the DeDanaans 45 

Fergus took all these interruptions in good 
part, for the boys’ and girls’ story teller al¬ 
ways expected them to ask many questions. 

“ Tara,” he said, “ was for ages the famous 
capital of all Ireland and the high king had his 
palace, built of smooth boards carved and 
painted, on top of the mound you saw protected 
by the rampart of earth. It was all very splen¬ 
did, but long, long ago, one day Saint Ruadan 
became angry at the high king and laid a curse 
on Tara, and since then no one has dared to 
live there. But you know I was talking about 
the Stone of Destiny that the DeDanaans 
brought and which was first kept at Tara. 
Now about the time the curse was laid on the 
place the king of Scotland sent and begged his 
brother, who was high king of Ireland, for 
the loan of the stone for a year. The Scottish 
king wanted to stand on it when he was crowned. 
The stone was loaned to him but never again 
has Ireland got it back! ” 


46 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

Nor has it come back to Ireland to this day; 
for more than two hundred years after our 
story, the English king, Edward I, took this 
magic stone from Scotland to London. It is 
now the famous Coronation Stone which is 
part of the throne on which the English kings 
sit when they have been crowned in Westminster 
Abbey; and perhaps some day you may see it 
there. 

Meantime Fergus went on with the story of 
the DeDanaans. “ After they had ruled in 
Ireland for a long while,” he said, “ another 
people, this time our own Celtic race, led by 
their king Miled, sailed to Ireland from some¬ 
where away off to the east. When the De¬ 
Danaans saw them coming, by their magic arts 
they raised a terrible storm hoping in this way 
to keep the boats from landing. But though 
many of the boats were destroyed, there were 
such hosts of Celts that they managed in spite 
of the storm to land enough men to attack the 


The Story of the DeDanaans 47 

DeDanaans, who were obliged to retreat before 
them till they came right here to the Blackwater 
where Tailltenn is now. Here they made a 
stand and a great battle was fought, and the 
Celts won. But the DeDanaans were not 
driven out of Ireland, you know.” 

“ Yes,” said some of the children eagerly, 
“ we know. They are fairies now! ” 

“That is right,” said Fergus; “the De¬ 
Danaans cast a spell over themselves making 
them invisible; and this spell they can put on 
or off as they please, and even now they rule un¬ 
seen over part of Ireland. Where we can see 
only green mounds and ruined walls, as at 
Tara, and under all the pleasant hills, there rise 
their fairy palaces where they live in continual 
sunshine and feast on magic meat and ale that 
keeps them everlastingly young and beautiful.” 

“ I saw a DeDanaan fairy once! ” spoke up 
one little boy. 

“ So did I! ” declared another, and then the 


48 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

children all fell to discussing and disputing 
about how many they had seen till Fergus had 
to stop them by telling them to scamper off 
for he was through for the afternoon. 

But the boys and girls were quite sure of 
what they said, and, no doubt, they were right, 
for everybody knows that to this day there are 
said to be more fairies in Ireland than in al¬ 
most any other land. 


CHAPTER V 


THE HALL OF FEASTING 

When the story telling was over and Eileen 
had gone back to her mother, Ferdiad and Conn 
hurried up the mound where stood the Hall of 
Feasting. The high king was to give a dinner 
there later on and the boys wanted to see what 
they could. 

At big open fires near the Hall cooks were 
busy turning spits, made of peeled hazel rods, 
on which venison and hares and wild birds were 
roasting. Others were tending huge cauldrons 
filled with boiling beef and sheep and little pigs. 
Potatoes, which we now call Irish but which 
are really American born, had not yet come 
to Ireland, because of course you know Colum¬ 
bus did not find America till more than four 
hundred years after our story; but there were 


49 


50 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

cabbages and onions and beans, and there were 
puddings and red apples and hazel nuts for 
dessert. 

“ See, Conn,” said Ferdiad, “ the door of 
the Hall is open; let’s go in and look around.” 

“ All right! ” said Conn, so they went in and 
watched as servants spread linen cloths on a 
number of tables standing close to the walls of 
the long room. There were seats for these 
only on the side next the wall; for nobody was 
expected to have his back to the center of the 
room where the poets always sang their pieces 
after dinner. 

“ These must be the tables for the kings and 
flaiths,” said Ferdiad as they strolled along 
the room, “ for see, there are the hooks in the 
wall for their shields.” 

“Yes,” said Conn, “and look up a little 
higher and you can tell exactly each king’s place, 
for there are the king’s-candles all ready to 
light,” and he pointed to a number of bronze 


The Hall of Feasting 51 

brackets holding very large candles of bees¬ 
wax with great bushy wicks. “ And that 
enormous one, bigger around than I am, is 
where the high king will sit. It’s just like the 
one that burns at the door of his palace at 
Kinkora when Brian Boru is there, and my 
foster-father says that when he goes to war a 
big candle like that always burns at the door 
of his tent at night.” 

“ I suppose where those other handsome 
cloths are is where the queens and their ladies 
will sit,” said Ferdiad, “ and down at the end 
of the Hall where they are spreading the tables 
with deerskin must be for the servants.” 

At every place was laid a napkin, a platter, 
a cup for mead and a knife for cutting up the 
food, all of which was eaten with the fingers. 
In front of each was also a small dish of 
honey, of which every one was immensely fond 
and in which they liked to dip almost every¬ 
thing, even meat and fish. 


52 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

Soon the dinner was ready and servants be¬ 
gan bringing in great dishes of meat which 
later would be carefully carved and distributed 
according to the rank of the guests. Thus, a 
certain part of the roast ox was always given 
to kings and poets, another special part to 
queens, another to flaiths, and so on till all 
were served. There was one other part, how¬ 
ever, that was always the choicest of all; and 
of this Conn whispered to Ferdiad, “ Who do 
you suppose will get the hero’s morsel? ” For 
this tidbit was the portion of the man who was 
thought by everybody to have performed the 
bravest or most heroic exploit. 

“ I don’t know,” answered Ferdiad, “ of 
course there are lots of kings and chiefs here 
at the fair, but I don’t know who has done 
the bravest thing. I dare say it will be the 
one who has fought and beaten the most 
Danes.” 

Just then “ Clear out now, youngsters! ” said 


The Hall of Feasting 53 

an official-looking man, who with two others had 
come into the Hall and taken their places close 
by the open door. 

As the boys slipped out, “ I guess it’s time 
for the feast,” whispered Ferdiad, “ but let’s 
wait outside and see the folks come.” 

Here one of the men at the door, lifting a 
large trumpet he carried, blew a loud blast and 
immediately a number of squires, who had been 
waiting near by holding the shields of their 
masters, marched up and handed them to the 
second of the three men who knew every 
shield and the rank of its owner. At a second 
blast from the trumpet the shields were taken 
into the Hall and hung on the hooks Ferdiad 
had noticed in the wall over the tables. It 
was a gay sight when all were placed; most of 
them were small and round, some made of 
wicker covered with leather and coated with 
lime which shone dazzling white, others painted 
in different colors, while many were ornamented 


54 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

with beautiful bands and bosses of gold and 
silver. When all were arranged the trumpeter 
blew a third blast, and at this the feasters began 
to arrive. 

“ There comes the high king! ” said Ferdiad, 
as the aged monarch, wrapped in a rich purple 
mantle and attended by his followers, reached 
the door of the Hall. As he was giving the 
feast, he stood near the entrance and greeted 
each guest before turning them over to the 
third of the three men at the door whose busi¬ 
ness it was to seat each man under his own shield 
and to lead the ladies to the tables spread for 
them. 

“ Don’t they look fine! ” said Conn, as he 
gazed at the gayly dressed throng coming up 
the mound. 

“Yes, indeed!” echoed Ferdiad, “and oh, 
there’s my foster-father! ” 

Angus was with a group of kings and poets 
who came directly after the high king, and 


The Hall of Feasting 55 

there was a sweet tinkling of musical branches 
as they passed. 

“ I wish my foster-father could go to the 
feast, too! ” said Conn wistfully, flushing 
slightly at the thought that he was not of high 
enough rank to be one of the guests. 

“ Never mind,” said Ferdiad quickly, “ I’m 
sure he is a brave man from what you have 
told me about him, and I don’t wonder you 
think so much of him. I think he was mighty 
good to take me into your tent to sleep, and I 
know my foster-father would like to meet him.” 

Conn looked pleased, and as he was not of 
an envious disposition, he said he hoped Angus 
would get the prize and that the high king 
would choose him for chief poet. “ And oh,” 
went on the boy, “ if he does you will all come 
to live at Kinkora where Brian Boru’s palace 
is and you know our home is near there and 
most likely you will go to the same monastery 
school where I go 1 ” 


56 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

“ That would be fine I ” exclaimed Ferdiad, 
“ and do tell me more about Kinkora.” And 
talking of this the two boys wandered off to¬ 
gether through the long twilight. 

Meantime within the Hall the feasting went 
merrily on; by and by the dark fell and all the 
kings’-candles were lighted, and then, when the 
feast was over, the chain of silence was shaken 
and the poets one by one stood out and sang 
their songs. But we have not time in this story 
to tell of what they sang nor of how beautifully 
they played on their harps, for they were very 
skillful musicians as well as makers of songs. 
Many fine poems were thus given, but, of course, 
Angus won the prize of the jeweled ring and 
was chosen by the high king to be his chief 
poet, while over his shoulders was hung the 
wonderful mantle of feathers, which was worn 
only by chief poets, and his silver musical 
branch was replaced by one of pure gold. 

I say of course this happened to Angus, be- 


The Hall of Feasting 57 

cause Eileen was quite sure it would, and so was 
Ferdiad, and so was I when he came into this 
story which must move now for awhile to Kin- 
kora; for Angus and his family would be ex¬ 
pected to live in the poet’s house by the palace 
of Brian Boru. 

But before we go to Kinkora I must tell you 
how Ferdiad went with his foster-parents and 
Eileen back to their home near Kells where 
Angus wished to arrange his affairs before quit¬ 
ting it for the court of the high king. 


CHAPTER VI 


KELLS IS RAIDED 

The curragh in which they had come to the 
fair was pointed up the Blackwater which it 
parted in long ripples of silver as Ferdiad and 
Angus pulled at the oars. They were all very 
proud and happy over the honor Angus had 
won the night before, and Eileen had hugged 
and kissed him and begged to hear all about it. 

But “ There, child,” said her father, “ I will 
tell you by and by. We must hurry now to 
reach Kells, for you know we want to stop there 
to see the new high-cross they have been put¬ 
ting up, and we must be home by dark, for we 
cannot sleep in the curragh neither can we camp 
in the forests; there are too many bears! ” 

Indeed, for much of their way after leav- 
58 


Kells is Raided 59 

ing Tailltenn the great trees came close to the 
water’s edge and in their deep shadows prowled 
many dangerous beasts; for a large part of 
Ireland was still wild and unsettled. Now and 
then they passed open bog lands with perhaps a 
glimpse of blue mountain tops in the distance; 
and sometimes the river led through meadows 
where cows and sheep were grazing near the 
homes of their owners. As I have told you, 
most of the Celtic people lived in the country 
and their homes, which they called “ raths ” 
were much alike. There was always a round 
or oblong house in the middle of a piece of 
ground enclosed by a circular wall of earth 
often planted on top with a prickly hedge to 
better protect the place from the attack of 
enemies or wild beasts. 

Even the palaces of the kings were built much 
the same, only larger and finer, and they were 
called “ duns ” instead of raths. 

But the curragh on the Blackwater had been 


60 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

making good progress and before long they 
could glimpse through the trees the stone walls 
of Kells, while clustering about rose the 
thatched roofs of the round wattled huts where 
lived the young students. 

For Kells was not a town but a monastery 
where a number of monks lived and studied and 
taught, and in their spare time made beautiful 
painted books. There were many such places 
in Ireland and the Celtic monks had become so 
famous for their learning that people not only 
from their own country but even from Britain 
and Gaul (which we now call England and 
France), sent their sons to be educated by them. 
Much of Europe was then very heathenish and 
ignorant, and had it not been for those Celtic 
monks, many of whom went as missionaries and 
started schools in other countries, the world 
would not be nearly so wise as it is to-day. 

As they now drew near Kells, “ Shall we go 
to the monastery landing? ” asked Ferdiad. 


Kells is Raided 


61 


“ No,” said Angus, “ I see the monks work¬ 
ing at the new high-cross on the hill yonder. 
We will land there and go up and look at 
it.” 

In a few minutes they had all climbed to the 
hill top where the new stone cross had just been 
put in place. It was very large, more than 
twice as high as a tall man, and wonderfully 
carved with scenes from the Bible as it was 
meant to tell its story to people who had no 
books of their own. There are to-day more 
than fifty of these great Celtic crosses stand¬ 
ing on the hills of Ireland and artists from 
many countries copy them because of their 
beauty. 

“ Oh, father, isn’t it fine! ” cried Eileen. 

“Yes, indeed!” said Angus; “it is one of 
the finest I have seen. Who of you made it? ” 
he asked, turning to the monks who were stand¬ 
ing by. 

One of them was about to answer him when 


62 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


suddenly there came a sharp jangle of bells 
from a tall round tower of stone near the mon¬ 
astery. 

“Hark!” cried the monk, and as they all 
paused a moment, there came another wild peal 
of the bells, and crashing through the woods 
beyond Kells they could see a score or more 
people from the country round about running 
frantically for the tower. Some were carrying 
children in their arms and others driving before 
them a few cows or sheep, while from the door 
of the monastery the brown-robed monks were 
already pouring out, their arms filled with pre¬ 
cious books and such sacred things of gold 
and silver as they had been able to snatch from 
the altar of the monastery church. For every¬ 
where the young students were running about 
shouting “The Danes! The Danes!” and 
everybody knew that those fierce pirate raiders 
from across the northern sea were heathens 
who thought no more of stripping a Christian 


Kells is Raided 63 

altar than of driving off a herd of cattle and 
killing their helpless owner. 

“Can you see them coming yet?” asked 
Angus anxiously of the monks. 

“ No,” they said, “ they are probably burn¬ 
ing the raths they have raided, but they will be 
here quickly! We must hurry to reach the 
tower! ” For the monks were no fighters, and, 
moreover, they all knew they would be far out¬ 
numbered by the raiders. 

Angus at once snatched up Eileen, who was 
screaming from fright, and bidding Fianna and 
Ferdiad to follow, they all ran like deer down 
the hill. 

By this time the country folk had given up 
hope of saving their cattle and sheep and were 
trying only to save themselves as both they 
and the monks and their pupils crowded to the 
foot of the tower and scrambled as fast as they 
could up a wooden ladder which led to a door 
high above the ground. For the tower was 



64 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

not only a belfry for the monastery church but 
also a place of refuge from just such sudden at¬ 
tacks as the Danes were now making. And 
how often these places of refuge were needed 
in those wild warring times is proven by the 
many ancient towers, solitary and deserted, 
which still rise from innumerable Irish hills 
and valleys. And very good strongholds they 
were when every one was inside, the ladder 
drawn up and the great door barred. If the 
raiders tried to come too close they were apt 
to get their heads cracked by a few of the big 
stones of which there was always a good sup¬ 
ply to be dropped from the high windows. 

As Angus and the rest now joined the others 
at the foot of the ladder, Angus saw that Fianna 
and Eileen got safely in and then telling Ferdiad 
to climb up too, turned to see if he could help 
the others. But Ferdiad waited to pick up a 
child that was lost from its parents and run- 
ing about crying helplessly. He handed it up 


Kells is Raided 65 

to safety, and just then a group of belated coun¬ 
try people came screaming that the Danes were 
at their heels! 

At this there was a wild rush for the ladder 
by those who were still outside. Angus, who 
supposed Ferdiad had gone in long before, 
climbed in with the last of the monks he had 
been helping, and in the struggle to gain the 
door no one noticed that Ferdiad was pushed 
off the ladder by a burly countryman wild with 
terror, and that the lad fell some distance to 
the ground. 

For a few moments he lay stunned, and when 
he came to himself the ladder was drawn up 
as out of the forest came rushing a troop of 
wild Danes. Some wore chain armor and hel¬ 
mets with cows’ horns fastened in front making 
them look like demons, w,hile others were clad 
in tunics made from the shaggy skins of beasts; 
but all carried shields and spears and short 
swords and were shouting in loud fierce voices. 


66 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

Ferdiad’s heart quaked and he crouched back 
at the foot of the tower where he had fallen 
and where, luckily, some bushes made a fairly 
good screen. 

When the raiders came nearer and found 
there was nobody to fight, part of them began 
swarming into the monastery and church and 
huts of the pupils looking for anything on which 
they might lay hands, while others started driv¬ 
ing off the flocks of the country folks, and still 
others quarreled among themselves over the 
booty they had brought from the raths they had 
afterward destroyed. 

Ferdiad, who had all the while been looking 
sharply about, all at once fairly held his breath 
as his gaze fell on a sheltered nook in the mon¬ 
astery wall. The Danes being for the time 
busy elsewhere none of them saw as did Ferdiad 
that a monk, clutching his robe as if trying to 
hide something beneath it, had seemingly 
crawled out of the wall and was creeping 


Kells is Raided 67 

through the bushes in the direction of the tower. 
Ferdiad guessed at once that he had come out 
of the underground chambers; and sure enough, 
the tangle of bushes hid a hole in the wall just 
big enough for a man’s body. This hole was 
the opening of a secret passage leading from 
the bee-hive shaped stone chambers such as were 
built under most monasteries and important 
houses as a place to hide valuables or the people 
themselves if attacked too suddenly for them to 
reach the nearest round tower. 

Now this monk of Kells, Brother Giles, had 
been with the last of those fleeing from the 
monastery when all at once he had remembered 
the most precious thing in all Kells and which 
no one else had thought to try to save. This 
was the marvelous angel book of Saint Colum- 
kille of which Ferdiad had told Conn the monks 
said there was no other like it in all the world! 
That it could for a moment have been forgot¬ 
ten would seem unbelievable were it not that 


68 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


every one knows that when people are fright¬ 
ened and must pick out what they most care for, 
as at a fire, they often bring away very silly 
things and leave the best of all behind. 

At any rate, the moment the monk thought 
of the book he rushed back and snatched it from 
the drawer where it was kept, then, finding the 
Danes were already coming toward the door 
of the monastery, he hurried down the winding 
stair to the underground chambers, hoping* to 
hide there. But in a few moments the Danes 
discovered the stair and he could hear them 
groping their way down, for it was very dark 
there. At this he began stealthily to feel his 
way to the secret passage, and because of the 
darkness he managed to escape from the raiders 
who were poking in corners for what plunder 
they could find. The monk, hiding the precious 
book in its golden case, had just come out of the 
passage when Ferdiad saw him. 

As the boy looked, suddenly Brother Giles 



























Kells is Raided 69 

straightened up and made a dash for the tower 
hoping to reach it before the Danes saw him. 

Forgetting his own danger, Ferdiad tried to 
call to him that the ladder was up, but could 
not make him hear. But the poor monk had 
scarcely run half way till with a fierce shout one 
of the raiders started in pursuit. Ferdiad’s 
eyes grew wide with horror as the monk sprang 
forward desperately only to sink lifeless on the 
ground beneath the sharp thrust of a Danish 
sword. As the man paused a moment Ferdiad 
could see his wild cruel face and red-scarred 
forehead, then suddenly as the dead monk’s 
robe fell apart the Dane caught the gleam of 
the golden case which held the painted book, 
and snatching it up greedily ran off with it be¬ 
fore Ferdiad’s strained gaze could make out 
just what the object was. 

In a little while the other raiders came out of 
the monastery, having stripped it of every bit 
of gold and silver they could find, and as they 


70 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

could not set fire to the stone buildings they had 
to content themselves with burning the thatched 
huts of the students. While these were still 
smoldering they took themselves off toward the 
seacoast, driving before them the sheep and 
cows they had stolen from the country folk. 

As soon as they were sure it was all over, the 
people one by one crept down from the tower, 
the country folk going sadly back to try pa¬ 
tiently to rebuild their desolate homes while the 
monks began to set things in order about Kells. 

Everybody was amazed and delighted to find 
Ferdiad had escaped with his life, though of 
course no one had known he was not safe in 
the tower. The body of Brother Giles was 
borne sorrowfully into the monastery; and then, 
when they began to bring back the gold and 
silver things they had saved and to take stock 
of what the Danes had stolen, first of all the 
Abbot discovered that Saint Columkille’s book 
was gone. He was filled with dismay and re- 


Kells is Raided 


71 

morse that he had forgotten it, and kept mutter¬ 
ing despairingly “ The angel book of the blessed 
Saint Columkille! May all the saints forgive 
me!” 

The monks, too, looked at each other white 
and terrified, fearing a curse upon Kells be¬ 
cause of their unbelievable carelessness. For 
none of them knew that Brother Giles had given 
his life in the vain effort to save the beautiful 
book, and they felt sure that the Celtic people 
would blame them when it was known the 
precious volume was lost, for it was even then 
famous in Ireland. 

As Ferdiad heard them lamenting, presently 
an idea occurred to him. “ Reverend Father,” 
he said to the Abbot, “ perhaps it was Saint 
Columkille’s book that Brother Giles was carry¬ 
ing when the Dane struck him. I saw the man 
take something from his robe as he lay on the 
ground, but could only get a flash of gold. I 
couldn’t see just what it was, as the Dane turned 


72 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

from me when he picked it up and he ran off 
right away.” 

The Abbot listened gravely, but only said, 
“ Perhaps, boy. But it might have been a 
golden candlestick you saw; we had many such. 
And even if it was the book, the Dane will care 
for nothing but the gold of its case and will 
surely destroy it when he rejoins his people and 
looks at it; they have burned countless precious 
volumes before this!” and the Abbot sighed 
bitterly. 

But, somehow, Ferdiad got it into his head 
that the book the angels had made would not 
be destroyed, and he wished more than any¬ 
thing else that some day he might find it. 

Meantime, Angus, seeing there was really 
nothing he could do to help restore order at the 
monastery, had brought down the curragh and 
he and Ferdiad had moored it at their landing. 
Fortunately their rath, being on the other side 
of the river from Kells, had escaped harm. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE NEW HOME AT KINKORA 

Angus had disposed of his home rath to a 
bo-aire who had given in exchange many bags of 
wheat and silver rings and gold torques and 
necklaces. Then, loading in an ox-cart such 
things as they wished to take with them to 
Kinkora, they had set out for the river Shan¬ 
non; for as Brian Boru’s palace was on the 
bank of that river it was easier to make the 
main journey by boat. 

Eileen and her mother and Ferdiad rode in 
the cart with the driver, but Angus came be¬ 
side them on a horse, which was considered the 
only proper way for a poet to ride; his horse 
had a single bridle and he guided and urged 
it on, not by a whip, but a small rod of carved 
yew wood having a curved end with a goad. 


73 


74 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

They all greatly enjoyed the journey both by 
land and water, and slept soundly every night 
at some comfortable brewy, which was the Cel¬ 
tic name for an inn; though, unlike our inns, 
they were places of free entertainment. In¬ 
deed, there were no other kind among the Celts, 
who thought so highly of hospitality that at 
every place where four important roads met 
they built a brewy. It was thought a great 
honor to be a brewy master and it was usually 
given to a man who had served his country well. 
He was given also a large piece of public farm 
land and many sheep and cows and was ex¬ 
pected always to have food and beds ready for 
travelers. And lest any one should miss his 
way, a servant stood always at the cross roads 
to point out the brewy. 

In this way they made the journey to Kin- 
kora and were soon settled in their new home. 

The second morning after their arrival, 
Ferdiad was in a meadow near by knocking 


The New Home at Kinkora 75 

about a leather ball with a bronze tipped stick 
when suddenly he threw it down, crying de¬ 
lightedly, “Well, Conn! We have been here 
two days and I wondered why you didn’t 
come! ” and he ran to meet his friend whose 
red head had just flamed in sight. 

Conn laughed with pleasure. “ I came the 
first chance I had,” he panted, “ and I ran the 
last half mile. My foster-father has been sick 
and I had to tend the cows and sheep so I 
couldn’t get away before. How do you like it 
here?” he added, looking eagerly around. 
Then, seeing the ball and stick, “ Oh,” he cried, 
“ why didn’t I bring my stick and we could 
have had a game of hurley!” 

“ Never mind,” said Ferdiad, “ come and see 
where we live now.” 

“It’s inside the high king’s dun, isn’t it?” 
asked Conn, looking toward the great earthen 
wall faced with stone and cement that rose 
near by enclosing the palace of Brian Boru. 


76 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

“ Yes,” answered Ferdiad, “ you know the 
king’s poet and doctor and lawyer and the rest 
of the folks that always attend him have houses 
inside the dun.” 

“ I know,” said Conn, “ and these scattered 
around through the fields are for the millers 
and farmers and cloth-makers and everybody 
who does things for the palace folks.” 

By this time the boys had come opposite the 
doorway in the great circular wall and had be¬ 
gun to weave their way among a number of tall 
upright stones, each as large as a man and 
placed as irregularly as if a lot of people run¬ 
ning toward the dun had suddenly been petri¬ 
fied. It was like playing hide and seek for the 
boys to try to keep together. 

“ Well,” said Ferdiad, as at last they stood 
before the open door of heavy oaken beams, 
“ the king of Meath has stones before the wall 
of his dun, only not half so many as these! ” 

“ They’re a wonderful protection,” said 


The New Home at Kinkora 77 

Conn, “ and if any army tried to attack Brian 
Boru’s palace they would have a mighty hard 
time getting inside the dun, for, of course, they 
would have to make their way between the 
stones a few at a time, just like we did.” 

Here the boys stepped inside the enclosure. 
They did not need to use the small log knocker 
which lay in a niche in a stone pillar beside the 
door, as the latter stood open with the keeper 
blinking in the sun. They crossed a wooden 
bridge over a moat and this brought them to 
the door of a second wall of earth thickly 
planted on top with hazel bushes. Passing 
through this they came to the very large green 
space in the center of which was a low mound 
where stood the wooden palace of Brian Boru. 
Dotted around near the earthen rampart were 
a number of round wattled houses where, as 
Ferdiad had said, the chief attendants of the 
high king lived. 

“ I’ve been here before,” said Conn, who had 


78 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

often brought things from the farm of his fos¬ 
ter-father, “ and I’ve peeped inside the palace 
once or twice when the high king was away, 
but I haven’t been in any of the chiefs’ houses. 
Which is yours? ” —“ Oh, I see! ” he added, 

laughing, as Eileen, catching sight of him, came 
running from an open doorway. 

“ Come in, Conn! ” she cried, seizing both 
his hands. “Isn’t our house pretty? It has 
stripes just like the queen’s house at the fair! ” 
and she pointed to the red and blue and green 
bands painted on the plaster that overlaid the 
wattled walls. “ And see how nice it is in¬ 
side ! ” she went on, leading Conn within. 

“ Yes,” said Conn, “ it is very pretty,” and 
he gazed admiringly around. In the center of 
the house was a carved pole supporting the 
thatched roof, in which was a hole to let out 
the smoke when it was cold enough to build a 
fire on the earthen floor now strewn with 
rushes. There were several low tables and 


The New Home at Kinkora 79 

seats cushioned with white fleeces, and around 
the wall behind partitions of wickerwork stood 
the beds with posts fixed in the ground. 

“ I helped weave the coverlids! ” said Eileen 
with pride as they peeped into these tiny bed¬ 
rooms, “ My loom is in our greenan,” and she 
led the way to a separate little house shining 
white in the sun and covered with vines. For 
no Celtic home was considered complete with¬ 
out such a little bower, or greenan as they called 
it, for the mistress and her friends, and it was 
always placed in the pleasantest and sunniest 
spot. 

Here Ferdiad called “ Come on, Conn, let’s 
go and take a look in the palace and around the 
dun. The high king and most of the flaiths 
have gone deer hunting and father Angus is 
practicing a new poem, so we’ll poke around 
awhile and then after dinner maybe we can 
find somebody to tell us a story.” 

As the boys ran off together, “ Be sure and 


8 o Our Little Celtic Cousin 


show Conn the queen’s greenan all thatched 
with bird wings! ” called Eileen, and Conn 
smiled, for he had often seen the greenan with 
its wonderful roof of feathers which were ar¬ 
ranged in glistening stripes of white and many 
colors. So, too, he had seen the great banquet 
hall of Brian Boru, though he looked in again 
to please Ferdiad. It was built much in the 
style of the Hall of Feasting at the Tailltenn 
fair, only handsomer and more gayly painted, 
and the heavy door of carved yew wood and 
the posts on either side were elaborately orna¬ 
mented with gold and silver and bronze. As 
they looked inside, “ There is where father 
Angus sits when there is a feast,” said Ferdiad, 
pointing to a seat at one of the long tables next 
to the high king’s throne-like chair. 

Back of the banquet hall was a kitchen with 
open fires and spits for roasting and cauldrons 
for boiling. There was also on the mound an¬ 
other large wooden house with living rooms 


The New Home at Kinkora 81 


and curtained beds, although all the more im¬ 
portant folks had each a little round sleeping 
house all to himself. 

Outside the main dun were several smaller 
circular enclosures protected by ramparts, and 
in these were stables for the horses and chariots, 
sheds for cows and sheep and pigs, granaries for 
wheat and barley, and kennels for the great 
fierce wolf-hounds that were loosed every night 
to guard the dun from unwelcome visitors. 

By the time the boys had seen everything 
dinner was ready and afterward Ferdiad begged 
Angus to tell them a story. “ It needn’t be a 
long one,” he said, “ but Conn and I have been 
looking at the big wolf-hounds of the high king 
and we wish you would tell us about how 
Cuculain got his name.” 

Angus smiled, for he knew the boys had heard 
many times of the exploits of Cuculain (whose 
name means “the Hound of Culain”), the 
most famous of all the Celtic heroes, but he 


82 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

knew also that made no matter for the boys 
loved to hear the same stories over and over. 
So they went out under a quicken tree near the 
house where Angus sat on a bench while Fer- 
diad and Conn stretched out on the grass at his 
feet. 


CHAPTER VIII 


HOW CUCULAIN GOT HIS NAME 

“ You know,” began Angus, “ it was in the 
brave days of the Red Branch Knights, hun¬ 
dreds and hundreds of years ago. Every sum¬ 
mer these famous warriors used to go to the 
dun of Concobar Mac Nessa, king of Ulster, 
which is in the northern part of Ireland, and 
while there they would practice drills and hold 
contests of strength and go through all sorts 
of feats of arms. 

“ One summer when they were thus visiting 
King Concobar, on a certain day a great flock of 
birds alighted on the wheat fields and began to 
eat the ripe grain. The king and a party of his 
knights went out with slings and stones to drive 
them off. But the birds kept flying farther 
83 


84 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

and farther away till at last when it grew dark 
they had lured King Concobar and the rest to 
where a fairy mound rose from the banks of 
the river Boyne. 

“ When they looked about for somewhere to 
sleep, they could find only a tumble-down hut, 
and with this they had to content themselves; 
that is, all but one of the knights who went ex¬ 
ploring further till he saw an opening in the 
fairy mound and entering it he came to a beau¬ 
tiful house and was met at the door by a hand¬ 
some young man who told him his name was 
Lugh of the Strong Arm. In a little while the 
young man’s wife came in and the knight stared 
with surprise for he recognized her as Dectera, 
a lovely girl who with fifty of her maidens had 
disappeared from the court of King Concobar a 
whole year before. 

“ When the knight went back to the hut 
where the others were and told what he had 
seen, King Concobar at once sent for Dectera 


How Cuculain Got His Name 85 

to return to the court with him. She refused, 
but next morning they found in the hut her 
beautiful baby boy whom she had sent as a gift 
to the people of Ulster, for the Druids had 
made wonderful prophecies about what a great 
hero he should be.” 

“ Who were the Druids? ” asked Conn. 

“ Why,” said Angus, “ they were the priests 
of long ago, before the blessed Saint Patrick 
came and taught our Celtic people about Christ 
and started the Christian religion in Ireland. 

“ But everybody in King Concobar’s time be¬ 
lieved what the Druids said,” went on Angus, 
“ so the Red Branch Knights took the baby back 
with them and found a nurse for him, and the 
king gave him a large piece of land and a rath 
for his inheritance and he was named Setanta. 
By and by, when he was seven years old, he was 
sent to be brought up in the court and be a 
foster-son of King Concobar. He was a fine 
strong boy and soon excelled all the other boys 


86 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

at court in running and leaping and riding horse¬ 
back and shooting with bow and arrow and in 
hurling the spear, and all the things you boys 
now are being taught. 

u Now one summer, when Setanta was about 
ten, King Concobar and some of the knights 
who had come again for the yearly practice in 
arms, decided to pay a two days’ visit to their 
friend a flaith named Culain who lived a num¬ 
ber of miles from the king’s palace. When 
they were ready to start they asked Setanta to 
go with them, but he was busy playing a game 
of hurley and wanted to finish it; so he said he 
would come later in the afternoon. 

“ The king’s party went on, and Culain wel¬ 
comed them and spread a great feast and by the 
time they had finished it was quite late in the 
evening, and they had forgotten all about 
Setanta. Then all at once they heard a most 
ferocious baying outside.” 

“ Yes,” cried Ferdiad, for the boys were 


How Cuculain Got His Name 87 

very fond of this story, “ it was the hound of 
Culain that had been let loose to guard the rath 
for the night, and it was as big and fierce as 
that lion beast that lives across the sea some¬ 
where and everybody is so afraid of! One 
of the merchants from the south of Gaul told 
us about it at the fair.” 

“ I have heard of the lion,” said Angus, “ and 
they say it is very terrible, but I believe I would 
as soon meet it as one of our Celtic wolf-hounds 
on guard. As the folks in Culain’s rath listened 
the noise grew louder as if the hound was fight¬ 
ing fiercely. At this they rushed out —” 

“ And there stood Setanta with his foot on 
the dead hound! ” broke in Conn excitedly. 

“ Yes,” said Angus, “ when it sprang on him 
he had seized it by the throat and killed it all 
by himself. The king and knights were 
amazed and they carried Setanta into the house 
and declared he would be a great hero. But 
while they were all exclaiming about Setanta’s 


88 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


feat, Culain stood apart, sad and silent; for 
he thought a great deal of his hound that had 
guarded his rath faithfully for years. 

“ As soon as Setanta noticed this, he said 
courteously to Culain that he was sorry he had 
been obliged to kill his hound, but that if he 
would give him a young dog he would train it 
so well that in a few years it would be as brave 
and faithful as the hound he had lost. And he 
said that meantime, if Culain would give him a 
spear and shield, he himself would stay and 
guard the rath from all harm.” 

“Wasn’t that splendid of Setanta!” ex¬ 
claimed Ferdiad. 

“ Yes, indeed! ” answered Angus, “ and from 
that time on he was called ‘ Cuculain,’ and 
every one who knows the stories of our Celtic 
heroes knows that his is the most famous name 
of all. But that will do for to-day,” and Angus 
rose to go into the house. 

“ I must go, too,” said Conn, and as the boys 


How Cuculain Got His Name 89 

strolled together to the door of the dun, he 
added, “ Next week school begins in the mon¬ 
astery over on the hill. I’ll see you there, 
won’t I? ” 

“ Yes,” said Ferdiad, “ father Angus says 
that is where I am to go, so good-by till then.” 


CHAPTER IX 


ON THE MARCH 

Ferdiad found the Kinkora school very in¬ 
teresting. Every day when the weather was 
pleasant the boys gathered in the cloister court¬ 
yard where the monks taught them out of doors. 
If it was cold or rainy they went inside to a 
schoolroom where the vellum books were kept 
in leather satchels hanging from wooden pegs 
ranged round the walls. The boys all had long 
narrow tablets of wood coated with wax, and 
with a slender rod of metal they wrote on these 
the things they must specially remember. They 
learned grammar, a little geography in rime, 
some Latin and various bits of wisdom called 
“ oghams,” and every school year they must 
memorize at least ten new poems and stories; 
for these were thought a very important part 


9d 


On the March 


91 

of school work. Ferdiad and Conn sat side 
by side and told the stories over and over to 
each other, and were always delighted to get 
a new one. 

Meantime, Eileen was taught at home, where 
besides her lessons she learned to spin and weave 
and sew and embroider. There were several 
other girls and boys whose foster-parents were 
among the attendants of the high king and 
queen, and with these they had many merry 
times. Conn came often to see them, and as 
the autumn wore away the boys went nutting 
and hunting and fishing together. 

When winter came it was not very cold, but 
fires were lighted and in the evenings they 
played chess and checkers and listened to 
stories and poems and music; for Brain Boru 
loved such things and always did his best to 
encourage scholars and poets and artists. 

But though life passed happily enough for 
the boys and girls, the faces of the older people 


92 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

began to grow more and more anxious as the 
weeks went on. Now and again Ferdiad and 
Eileen would hear talk of some fresh raid by 
the Danes, who were all the while growing 
bolder and bolder. 

Sometimes Conn came with tales he had 
heard, and one day he said to Ferdiad: “ My 
foster-father says there’s bound to be a fight 
before long, or those Danes will just settle 
themselves here in Ireland and we never can 
drive them out I ” 

“ That’s what father Angus thinks, too,” said 
Ferdiad. “ He says as soon as spring comes 
Brian Boru will get all the Celtic kings together 
and start out after the Danes and there will be 
a big battle somewhere.” 

And sure enough, as the winter passed, more 
and more messengers came and went from Kin- 
kora as the high King completed his plans; and 
every one around the palace talked of the Danes 
and how they must be conquered. 


On the March 


93 

“ Do you know, Ferdiad,” said Conn excit¬ 
edly one day, “ folks say the banshee Aibell has 
been seen by the O’Brien of Killaloe, and she 
has given him a magic cloak that will make him 
invisible as he fights in the battle? ” 

“Who is Aibell?” asked Ferdiad. 

“ Oh, I forgot,” said Conn, “ you haven’t 
lived here long enough to know. She is the 
fairy queen who specially guards the flaith 
O’Brien. He’s a great champion and lives at 
Killaloe, not far from here. Aibell is famous 
around here and her palace is under the rock 
of Craglea in a glen near the O’Brien’s 
home.” 

“ Well,” said Ferdiad, “ I hadn’t heard 
about Aibell, but I did hear that a flock of 
roysten crows flew eastward last night, and 
some say the battle witches often take the shape 
of crows and fly ahead when war is coming.” 

The next day the two boys had still more 
exciting things to talk about. “ Oh, Conn! ” 


94 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

cried Ferdiad, “what do you think? We are 
going, tool The high King will take along 
quite a number of the boys from here to run 
errands, and father Angus says that you can go 
with the group from the palace because you 
and I are such friends! ” 

“ Oh, good! ” cried Conn, his eyes dancing. 
“ My foster-father and my own father both are 
going with the soldiers and I suppose quite an 
army will start from here.” 

“ Yes,” said Ferdiad, “ some of the Celtic 
kings and their soldiers will come here to start 
with Brian Boru and the rest will meet him in 
the kingdom of Meath, near where the river 
Liffey empties into the sea, and I am sure my 
own father, too, will be with the Meath army. 
They say a lot of the Danes have been camping 
all winter at the Ford of the Hurdles, and the 
high King means to attack them somewhere 
near there.” 

So the preparations went on; and by and by, 


On the March 


95 

when April came and the hawthorn trees began 
to bloom and the fields were full of butter¬ 
cups, the Celtic kings with their poets and at¬ 
tendants began to arrive in chariots, while their 
soldiers followed on foot. The more impor¬ 
tant folks were entertained inside the dun, and 
the common soldiers pitched their tents in the 
fields without. 

In a few days more Eileen and her mother 
waved a tearful good-by to Angus and Ferdiad 
and Conn as they took their places in the great 
host that wound out of the dun and across the 
fields to the east. At the head went Brian 
Boru and after him the kings and flaiths riding 
in chariots, while the poets cantered along on 
horseback, their musical branches tinkling and 
their heads full of the battle songs they would 
chant when the time came. There were also 
musicians and story tellers and jugglers to pro¬ 
vide entertainment when they camped at night, 
and doctors and priests to attend those who 


96 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

would be wounded and dying in the fight. The 
soldiers trudged along on foot and the baggage 
followed in ox-carts. Ferdiad and Conn and 
the other boys marched along with the rest and 
whenever they were wanted to carry message^ 
or do any service the buglers called them, and 
when they got tired marching they could climb 
in the ox-carts and ride for a while. 

“ How long will it take us to get to the sea- 
coast? Do you know?” asked Conn of Fer¬ 
diad. 

“ Father Angus said it would be over a 
week,” said Ferdiad, “ but I don’t care how 
long it takes. I think it will be lots of fun, 
especially when we camp at night! ” 

And Ferdiad was right. The boys greatly 
enjoyed the march, and, best of all, the eve¬ 
nings when the tents were pitched, the protect¬ 
ing wall of earth thrown up around the camp, 
the fires made and supper being cooked. Later 
on, when the great king’s-candle was lighted 


On the March 


97 

at the door of Brian Boru’s tent, story telling 
and singing and all sorts of fun went on. 

At last they drew near the mouth of the 
river Liffey and began to smell the salt air of 
the sea; and on a plain near its shore they 
made their camp. Close behind rose the Hill 
of Howth, and not far off the sea glittered and 
gleamed as the ebbing waves laid bare a wide 
strand of bowlders covered with long green 
water weeds. By and by, when the tide would 
come sweeping in, the great foaming breakers 
would roar and rumble over the stones like 
a herd of angry, bellowing bulls, and for this 
reason the Celtic people called the seashore 
there “ Clontarf,” which means in their lan¬ 
guage the “ Lawn of the Bulls,” a name which 
it bears to this day. 

Ferdiad and Conn, who had not before seen 
the ocean, delighted in watching the curling 
green breakers and wading out as far as they 
dared. But they did not have much time to 


98 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

play, as the next day, which was Palm Sunday, 
they had many errands to do. 

On that morning all the other Celtic kings 
joined Brian Boru’s army, bringing with them 
their hosts of fighting men dressed, as were all 
the rest of the Celtic soldiers, in tunics of yellow 
linen; they had no armor because they thought 
it cowardly to wear it and protected only their 
heads with leather helmets and the front of 
their legs from the knee down with pieces of 
brown leather. The kings and flaiths did not 
wear even these, but were arrayed in silk and 
gay linen bratts and tunics and gold chains and 
bracelets quite as if they were going to a feast 
instead of a fight. 

Ferdiad and Conn were very busy for the 
next three or four days, and finally, Thursday 
evening, Ferdiad said, “ I believe they will 
fight soon now. I wouldn’t wonder if it would 
be to-morrow! ” 


“Why,” said Conn, “ that’s Good Friday! 


On the March 


99 


1 shouldn’t think Brian Boru would pick such a 
holy day to fight. You know he is so religious.” 

“ He is,” said Ferdiad, “ but I heard the 
soldiers talking about a prophecy of a Dane 
soothsayer. I don’t know how they found out 
about it, but the prophecy says if the battle is 
on Good Friday our Celts will win, though the 
high king will be killed. Of course nobody 
wants Brian Boru killed, but the soldiers say 
they want to fight to-morrow on account of the 
first part of the prophecy and that they can 
ward off the last part easy enough as they are 
sure the high king won’t be in the fight because 
of the day and they will keep an extra strong 
guard around him besides.” 

“ What does Brian Boru say? ” asked Conn. 
“ Did you hear? ” 

“ They say he has the battle all planned and 
is willing for it to be to-morrow, though, as 
the soldiers thought, he himself won’t touch 
weapons on Good Friday because it’s against 



100 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


his religion. It seems to me he is too old to 
fight anyway! ” 

“ Don’t you think it! ” said Conn. “ He is 
mighty brave and a good fighter yet, if he is 
’way past eighty! ” 

That night there were no poets’ songs nor 
story telling nor jugglers’ tricks, for everybody 
was on the alert for the coming battle. The 
two boys curled up side by side in one of the 
ox-carts and, like all the rest of the Celtic host 
on this night, they did not take off their clothes. 
Far off in the distance they could see the watch- 
fires of the Danes at the Ford of the Hurdles, 
and they went to sleep talking excitedly of the 


morrow. 


CHAPTER X 


THE BATTLE OF CLONTARF 

Sure enough, at daybreak the next morning 
there rose the sound of wild war cries as the 
Celts rushed out from their camp toward the 
Ford of the Hurdles. The full tide was roar¬ 
ing and bellowing across the Lawn of the Bulls, 
but its noise was quite drowned as with fierce 
cries of their own the Danes sprang to meet 
them. 

“ Hark! Hark! ” exclaimed Ferdiad as he 
and Conn jumped from the ox-cart where they 
had slept, “ the fight has begun! ” As none 
of the boys were allowed in the way of the 
battle but had been ordered to stay behind 
the lines, “ Let’s run up the side of the Hill of 
Howth,” he said, “ we can at least see it from 

IOI 


102 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

there. My, how I wish we could be in it! ” 

“ Don’t you though! ” cried Conn longingly 
as they scrambled up the steep grassy slopes. 

There were others also watching from the 
Hill; the doctors who must be ready to help 
the wounded, the priests to comfort the dying, 
and the historians to write down just what went 
on. For the Celts liked to keep an account of 
all their doings. 

The boys stood near these, and as the fight 
became fiercer and fiercer of course they grew 
more and more excited. 

“I wonder where the high king is?” said 
Conn. 

“I don’t know,” answered Ferdiad,— then, 
“ Look! ” he cried, “ I believe he is over yon¬ 
der sitting on a rock! Can you see? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Conn, “ and there’s a ring 
of men with locked shields standing all around 
him!” 

It was indeed the aged high king. His face 


The Battle of Clontarf 103 

was white and set as if carved from marble, 
yet his piercing eyes were brave and fearless as 
he sat watching the battle which he was certain 
would in some way bring death to him. For 
the Dane prophecy had sunk deep into his mind, 
and nothing could shake his belief that it would 
be fulfilled. 

Wilder and wilder grew the struggle. Ban¬ 
ners fluttered and fell, and the loud battle cries 
from thousands of throats, the clanking of 
Danish armor and rattling of spears and shields 
all mingled in one hoarse roar as the chariots 
of the Celtic kings rushed hither and thither 
and the poets goaded their horses to the front 
ranks bravely chanting their songs and inspir¬ 
ing the courage of the soldiers. 

The sun rose higher and higher and the 
ebbing tide flowed far out to sea, and still the 
conflict raged and none could foresee who would 
be the victors. Now one side and now the 
other seemed gaining the advantage. But to- 


104 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

ward noon the watchers on the Hill began to 
despair ; for they could see the yellow tunics of 
the Celtic soldiers rolling back in a tawny flood 
as the gleaming mail of the Danes swept over 
them. 

Ferdiad and Conn scarcely spoke as breath¬ 
lessly they looked, each wondering whether his 
father or foster-father still lived or had gone 
down before the Danish hosts as had already 
the son and grandson of the high king. 

But Brian Boru was too proud and skillful 
a warrior to allow his armies to meet defeat at 
the hands of pirates and sea-rovers no matter 
how many or how powerful. Still standing 
white and motionless, watching the plain 
through the ring of shields, nevertheless he was 
all the while sending swift messengers back 
and forth ordering the battle, till at length, as 
the sunset tide again surged in, bellowing, over 
the waterworn bowlders, the tide of war turned 
also for the Celts. 


The Battle of Clontarf 105 

Louder and louder rang the songs of the 
poets, the voice of Angus leading them all, 
as the Celtic kings and captains rallying their 
soldiers for a last mighty effort, rushed resist- 
lessly forward, hurling their spears, thrusting 
with their swords and dealing deadly blows with 
their battle axes, till suddenly their Danish foes 
gave way and fled wildly before them. 

At this the boys could hold back no longer, 
but flying down the hillside ran toward the sea¬ 
shore where the victorious Celts were pursuing 
the Danes, who were trying to reach the long 
dragon ships in which they had come to Ire¬ 
land and which were moored at the mouth of 
the river Liffey. When the tide was low they 
could easily wade out to these, but now plunging 
into the great green breakers hundreds and 
hundreds met their death. Some tried to reach 
the bridge over the Liffey which led to their 
fortress only to find escape cut off by the brave 
Celts who had captured and held it. 


106 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


When dusk fell, the great army of the Danes 
was crushed and defeated. Of those who had 
not fallen in battle or been drowned in the 
roaring tide a few had managed to escape, but 
most were prisoners in the hands of the Celtic 
soldiers. The Battle of Clontarf was over 
and the high king, Brian Boru, had forever 
broken the power of the Danes in Ireland. 

But what of the high king himself? Had he 
escaped the death for which he had waited 
through all the long day? No, he had not 
escaped. Faithfully from early dawn to sun¬ 
set the shield men had guarded him in un¬ 
broken ring, and not till the tide of battle 
turned and the Celts were pursuing the flying 
Danes did they relax their watch. For how 
could they know that at the very moment their 
tired arms dropped to their sides a fugitive 
Dane, who had managed to escape the Celtic 
spears and crept through the forest and behind 
the rocks at the foot of the Hill, would spring 







it 


THUS IT WAS THE SOOTHSAYER’S PROPHECY WAS FULFILLED 




The Battle of Clontarf 107 

upon the aged monarch and deal him death 
with a single thrust of his sword? 

But thus it was the soothsayer’s prophecy 
was fulfilled. 


CHAPTER XI 


FERDIAD AND THE DANE PRISONER 

Ferdiad and Conn stood together in a group 
of soldiers who were making campfires for the 
night, and many were the stories they all had to 
tell of the day. But most of all were they 
wondering how it was that a single Dane had 
been able to kill the high king in spite of all 
the shield men. 

“ It was that heathen prophecy! ” declared 
one soldier, “ and nobody could help it! ” 

“ They say the Dane who struck him was a 
great sorcerer and that no sword could bite his 
magic armor,” said another. And this explana¬ 
tion seemed to satisfy them best; for they did 
not like to think an ordinary man could have 
harmed the king they had taken such pains to 
guard. 

108 


Ferdiad and the Dane Prisoner 109 

“ Did you know the flaith O’Brien was 
killed? ” asked another. 

“ Yes,” spoke up some one else, “ his men say 
that at first he was invisible because of the 
cloak from the banshee of Craglea, but as the 
battle grew fiercer he scorned not to be seen 
and threw it off. It was then a Dane spear 
struck him, and they say his shield moaned as 
he fell!” 

“ Did you see the war witches dancing on 
the tips of our Celtic spears?” said another 
voice. 

“To be sure!” came an answering one, 
“ And look! they are flying now over the bat¬ 
tle field!” 

“Do you see them, Ferdiad?” whispered 
Conn, in awed tones. 

“ It looks like fog coming in from the sea,” 
said Ferdiad, gazing through the gathering 
dusk, “ but I suppose the witches are in it.” 

Just here some other boys came along on 


lio Our Little Celtic Cousin 

their way to see the prisoners, and Ferdiad and 
Conn went with them to the rear of the camp 
where scores of sullen-looking Danes were 
standing under guard waiting their turn to be 
chained. Torches flared here and there, and 
as their flickering light fell on the faces of the 
prisoners all at once Ferdiad stopped short 
with a long “ Oh! ” He was standing in front 
of a tall, cruel-looking man with hands chained 
behind him and an ugly red scar across his fore¬ 
head. 

After his first gasp of surprise, “ Conn,” 
whispered Ferdiad excitedly, “ he is the man 
who killed the monk in the raid on Kells! I 
would know his face in a thousand. And he 
took what the monk had hid in his robe and I 
have always thought it was the angel book of 
Saint Columkille! ” Here Ferdiad caught 
sight of the wooden shield at the Dane’s feet: 
in its center was a pointed boss of iron which 
was thrust through, and partly held in place, 



HE WAS STANDING IN FRONT OF A TALL, CRUEL LOOKING MAN 








Ferdiad and the Dane Prisoner ill 


the fragment of a thin sheet of gold. The 
corners of this were fastened to the wood by a 
few bronze nails, and the gold was beautifully 
hammered in a curious design of interlacing 
lines and queer animal forms with long tails 
twisting in many intricate spirals. 

“ Look! ” cried Ferdiad, as he examined this 
eagerly, “ now I know it was Saint Colum- 
kille’s book he got! That gold is part of its 
case, I’ve seen it and remember the pattern! 
I suppose he put it on his shield trying to imi¬ 
tate our handsome Celtic ones with their gold 
ornaments.” 

Meantime the captive was staring sullenly 
at Ferdiad, who was saying to Conn, “ I wonder 
if he understands Celtic? I wish I could ask 
him some questions.” 

“ No, boy,” said a soldier standing guard 
near by, “ but if you want to ask him some¬ 
thing I can help you, for I know his lan¬ 
guage.” 


112 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

“ Oh,” said Ferdiad, “ ask him where the 
book is that was in that case. It was the angel 
book of the blessed Saint Columkille! ” 

“It was?” exclaimed the soldier in surprise, 
for almost every Celt had heard of that won¬ 
derful book. But to the soldier’s question the 
Dane only shrugged his shoulders and would 
say nothing. 

“ I was at Kells when the Danes raided it, 
and I saw him kill the monk who was trying 
to save the book! ” went on Ferdiad. 

At this the soldier began fiercely to threaten 
the man, telling him they would kill him. But 
still the man sullenly refused to speak; for he 
had been long enough in Ireland to know that 
the Celtic law would not allow prisoners to be 
killed. 

Then Ferdiad thought of something. “ Tell 
him,” he said, “ that my foster-father is the 
chief poet of Ireland and I will get him to 
compose a scornful poem about him! ” 


Ferdiad and the Dane Prisoner 113 

Now do not laugh, for this was no idle 
threat of Ferdiad’s, and when he suggested it 
the soldier said approvingly, “ That will settle 
him! ” For a Celt dreaded nothing more than 
for a poet to chant scornful verses about him. 
They had a peculiar reverence for their poets 
and believed that by their songs they could, if 
they wished, call down terrible misfortunes or 
even death. 

So the soldier took pains to impress all this 
on the Dane, who turned pale with fright and 
at last burst out in a torrent of words to which 
the soldier listened attentively. 

“ He says,” he interpreted, “ that that book 
has been trouble enough to him. When he was 
carrying it off from Kells another Dane at¬ 
tacked him and tried to get it away, and in the 
fight he killed the man but not before he had 
got a sword thrust that blinded one of his 
eyes,— which served him right! though the 
wicked heathen was ugly enough already with 


114 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

that red scarred forehead of his! ”■— put in the 
soldier on his own account as he went on, “ he 
says the gold was what he wanted, and after 
his fight with the man he tore the book out of 
its case and threw it away. And may the 
blessed Saint Columkille send his soul to ever¬ 
lasting torment for it! ” added the soldier as 
he piously crossed himself. 

Ferdiad drew a long breath, “ Well,” he said 
at last, “ at least it wasn’t burned!” For 
everybody knew the Danes had made many a 
bonfire of the precious books and manuscripts 
they had stolen from the Celts. “ Perhaps 
it may be found yet,” he said to Conn as they 
walked away together. 

“ But it would surely be spoiled if it had 
been lying on the ground all this while! ” said 
Conn. 

And still discussing it they went over to the 
^center of the camp where every one was going. 
For Angus was beginning to chant the mourn- 


Ferdiad and the Dane Prisoner 115 

ing song for the high king, who lay within his 
tent with lighted candles at his head and feet 
and the royal waxen one blazing at the door. 


CHAPTER XII 

THE BOOK OF KELLS 

It was the day after the battle of Clontarf, 
and the Celtic camp was already broken up and 
the soldiers scattering back to their homes. 
The body of the dead high king, Brian Boru, 
was to be borne in a cart drawn by white oxen 
and covered with a purple pall to the church 
of Armagh, a very sacred place in the king¬ 
dom of Ulster. There, with solemn ceremon¬ 
ies, the Celtic monarch would be buried, stand¬ 
ing with his face to the east, wrapped in his 
royal mantle, his shield and spear beside him. 

Now it happened that Kells was one of the 
stopping places on the way to Armagh; and 
when Ferdiad heard this, he begged his foster- 
116 


The Book of Kells 


117 

father that he and Conn might go that far 
along with the pages who attended the differ¬ 
ent kings and flaiths. 

u We can ride in the cart for the pages, and 
stay at Kells and you can stop for us when you 
come back from Armagh! ” said Ferdiad eag¬ 
erly. “ I want to hunt for Saint Columkille’s 
book and Conn will help me.” For Ferdiad 
had told his foster-father about what the Dane 
prisoner had said. 

Angus had no hope that the beautiful book 
might be found, but Ferdiad begged so hard 
that he agreed and Ferdiad ran off happily to 
tell Conn. 

So it came about that the two boys went along 
when the funeral procession set off, the white 
oxen and royal cart leading the way while close 
behind rode poet Angus chanting sorrowful 
songs in honor of the dead king. After him 
came as many of the Celtic kings and flaiths as 
could arrange to go to Armagh, and last of all 


n8 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

followed the host of attendants for these, the 
boys among them. 

At Kells the funeral train was received with 
every honor, and after a brief rest moved on to 
the north; but Ferdiad and Conn stayed behind. 
The boys were warmly greeted by the monks, 
who knew Ferdiad well and were fond of the 
lad; and they were especially glad to see him 
as they had not heard from him since the day 
of the raid. 

He soon told them what he had found out 
about the beautiful book, and Brother Patrick 
said, “ Yes, lad, I remember finding the body 
of no doubt the very man the Dane prisoner 
told you he had fought with over the gold case, 
and we gave the wicked heathen Christian burial 
where we found him. If the book was thrown 
away soon after the fight, it must be somewhere 
not far from that spot.” 

“ Oh, please show us the place and let’s begin 
looking right away! ” cried Ferdiad. 


The Book of Kells 119 

“ I can show you the Dane’s grave,” said 
Brother Patrick with a sigh, “ but unless the 
blessed Saint Columkille has worked ? miracle, 
the beautiful book is surely ruined by this 
time! ” 

' The spot to which he led the way was in a 
woodland skirting the monastery fields, and just 
beyond was a bog where the monks had once cut 
the peat they burned in winter, though it had 
now become quite dry. Several of them who 
had heard Ferdiad’s story came along, and all 
began to search. But most of them were no 
longer young, and it seemed to them a hopeless 
task; though they constantly mourned the loss 
of the most beautiful book in Ireland. 

As the Kells school was over for the sum¬ 
mer, there were no young students to help 
search, for they had all gone away for a time; 
so at last Ferdiad and Conn found themselves 
the ones who must find the book if any one 
did. 


120 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

Up and down through the trees they went, 
peering and poking under every swirl of fallen 
leaves or dead boughs where they glimpsed any¬ 
thing that looked in the least like the brown 
carved leather that covered the lost book. 
Ferdiad led the way southeastward from where 
the two Danes had fought, “ For,” he said, 
“ that is the direction Brother Patrick says 
the raiders went after they left Kells, and even 
yet you can see the broken branches where they 
drove the cows through the woods on their way 
toward the sea.” 

The boys got down on their hands and knees 
and looked under every thicket of bushes, and 
Conn even poked under tufts of violets and 
cowslips. 

“ Why, Conn,” laughed Ferdiad, “ it’s too 
big to hide under those! Saint Columkille’s 
book is at least a foot wide and more than that 
long, and thick through! ” 

Indeed, they got as interested as in a game 


The Book of Kells 121 

of hide and seek; moreover, the monks offered 
as prize, if the book was found, a handsome 
bow and arrows with a quiver of red enameled 
leather, such as they gave to their best student at 
the end of his year’s school work. 

For almost a week the boys searched and 
searched in vain. At last Ferdiad said, 
“ There’s a fairy mound somewhere in these 
woods, I think not far from here. Let’s go 
around it three times and say a charm and 
maybe the fairies will help us! ” 

“ All right! ” agreed Conn, and soon find¬ 
ing the little hill they walked around it back¬ 
ward three times, each saying softly under his 
breath a special charm rime; for many such 
had been handed down among the people from 
the days of the DeDanaans. 

Now it was an odd thing, but that very morn¬ 
ing, while Conn with a stick was poking under 
some hazel bushes, Ferdiad, in looking behind 
a log at the edge of the woodland, happened to 


122 Our Little Celtic Cousin 


start a young hare. Off scampered the little 
creature out of the woods and over a corner 
of the peat bog. Suddenly,— plump! down it 
tumbled head over heels in a hole where, long 
before, the monastery brothers had been cut- 
ing their peat. 

Ferdiad, who was fond of hunting with his 
red and green hounds, though he had none with 
him, instinctively ran after the hare to see what 
had become of it. Though the ground was 
spongy lower down, for some distance from the 
top the bog was dry; and when Ferdiad came 
to the hole, there was the frightened little hare 
huddled up at the bottom and in his scrambles 
to get out his hind legs were scattering the 
brown dry leaves that had blown over from 
the forest the autumn before. 

As Ferdiad bent over his eyes began to grow 
very round as he stared, not at the little hare, 
but at something lying at one side of the ragged 
hole where the hare had been most active in 




i . 


ft 


THE DRIFTING LEAVES HAD PROTECTED IT FROM THE WEATHER 




The Book of Kells 123 

scattering away the leaves. The corner of a 
brown flat object was laid bare, and Ferdiad, 
springing down hurriedly, cleared away the rest 
of the leaves and drew out — but, of course, 
you have guessed what! 

Yes, indeed, it truly was the angel book 
which by some strange chance had fallen into 
the peat hole when the Dane, hurrying to join 
the other raiders, had come out of the wood¬ 
land and cutting across a corner of the bog had 
torn it from the case and flung it away. It had 
dropped under a projecting edge of the peat, 
and this and the drifting leaves had protected 
it from the weather so that when Ferdiad lifted 
it out, though its thick leather cover was marred 
and discolored in places, yet when he opened it 
its marvelous painted pages shone out as bright 
and beautiful and undimmed as when first it 
came from the hand of the unknown artist 
hundred of years before! 

“Conn! Conn!” shouted Ferdiad, trem- 


124 Our Little Celtic Cousin 

bling with excitement, “ Come here! I have 
found it! ” 

In a moment Conn came running, and when 
Ferdiad told him how he had discovered it he 
stared in surprise. “ Do you suppose it could 
have been a DeDanaan fairy in the form of a 
hare that helped you find it?” he cried. “I 
was sure I saw some fairies flitting around there 
in the woods after we came back from the 
mound.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Ferdiad, u it might 
have been! ” 

And perhaps it was; and perhaps, too, as 
the monks declared when Ferdiad bore back 
the book in triumph to the monastery, the 
blessed Saint Columkille or the angels who had 
guided the hand of the bygone artist had in¬ 
deed wrought a miracle and so saved those rare 
painted pages from harm as they lay all the 
long months hidden in the bog. 


The Book of Kells 125 

In very truth, the angels must still guard 
the sacred volume; for all these things I have 
told you happened long and long ago. Long 
and long ago Ferdiad and Conn and Eileen 
lived out their happy lives and long ago poet 
Angus sang his last sweet song. The raths of 
the Celtic people of old and the duns of their 
high kings are now only ruined walls watched 
over by the hidden fairies, and their beloved 
Ireland has passed through many changes and 
has known much of sorrow. Yet through all 
the passing centuries the Great Gospel of Saint 
Columkille, or the Book of Kells, as it is more 
often called to-day, still keeps its lovely pages 
untarnished and unfading. In the city of Dub¬ 
lin, which once was but the fortress at the Ford 
of the Hurdles, still is it jealously cherished, 
and still is it ranked, as in the days of Ferdiad, 
the most beautiful book in all the world. 


THE END 



Selections from 
The Page Company’s 
Books for Young People 

THE BLUE BONNET SERIES 

Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume . . . . . $1.50 

A TEXAS BLUE BONNET 

By Caroline E. Jacobs. 

“ The book’s heroine, Blue Bonnet, has the very finest 
kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness.”— Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

BLUE BONNET’S RANCH PARTY 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Edyth Ellerbeck Read. 
“A healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every 
chapter.”— Boston Transcript. 

BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON; Or, Boarding- 

School Days at Miss North’s. 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards. 

“ It is bound to become popular because of its whole¬ 
someness and its many human touches.”— Boston Globe . 

BLUE BONNET KEEPS HOUSE; Oe, The 

New Home in the East. 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards. 
“It cannot fail to prove fascinating to girls in their 
teens.”— New York Sun. 

BLUE BONNET—DEBUTANTE 

By Lela Horn Richards. 

An interesting picture of the unfolding of life for 
Blue Bonnet. 

A—1 





THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


THE YOUNG PIONEER SERIES 

By Harrison Adams 

Each ISmo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 'per 
volume .SI -25 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO; Or, 

Clearing the Wilderness. 

“ Such books as this are an admirable means of stimu¬ 
lating among the young Americans of to-day interest in 
the story of their pioneer ancestors and the early days of 
the Republic.” — Boston Globe. 

THE PIONEER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES; 

Or, On the Trail of the Iroquois. 

11 The recital of the daring deeds of the frontier is not 
only interesting but instructive as well and shows the 
sterling type of character which these days of self-reliance 
and trial produced.” — American Tourist, Chicago . 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI; 

Or, The Homestead in the Wilderness. 

“The story is told with spirit, and is full of adven¬ 
ture.”— New York Sun. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSOURI; 

Or, In the Country of the Sioux. 

“ Vivid in style, vigorous in movement, full of dramatic 
situations, true to historic perspective, this story is a 
capital one for boys.”— Watchman Examiner, New York 
City. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE YELLOW¬ 
STONE; Or, Lost in the Land of Wonders. 

“ There is plenty of lively adventure and action and 
the story is well told.”— Duluth Herald, Duluth, Minn. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE COLUMBIA; 

Or, In the Wilderness of the Great Northwest. 

“ The story is full of spirited action and contains much 
valuable historical information.”— Boston herald . 

A —% 






BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE HADLEY HALL SERIES 

By Louise M. Breitenbach 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per 
volume .. $ 1.50 

ALMA AT HADLEY HALL 

“ The author is to be congratulated on having written 
such an appealing book for girls.” — Detroit Free Press. 

ALMA’S SOPHOMORE YEAR 

“It cannot fail to appeal to the lovers of good things 
in girls’ books.” — Boston Herald. 

ALMA’S JUNIOR YEAR 

“ The diverse characters in the boarding-school are 
strongly drawn, the incidents are well developed and the 
action is never dull.” — The Boston Herald. 

ALMA’S SENIOR YEAR 

♦‘Incident abounds in all of Miss Breitenbach’s stories 
and a healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every 
chapter.”— Boston Transcript. 


THE GIRLS OF 
FRIENDLY TERRACE SERIES 

' By Harriet Lummis Smith 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume .$1.50 

THE GIRLS OF FRIENDLY TERRACE 

“ A book sure to please girl readers, for the author seems 
to understand perfectly the girl- character.” — Boston 
Globe. 

PEGGY RAYMOND’S VACATION 

“It is a wholesome, hearty story.”— Utica Observer. 

PEGGY RAYMOND’S SCHOOL DAYS 

The book is delightfully written, and contains lots of exciting 
incidents, 

A—3 







THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


FAMOUS LEADERS SERIES 

By Charles H. L. Johnston 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 'per 

volume . $ 1.50 

FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS 

“ More of such books should be written, books that 
acquaint young readers with historical personages in a 
pleasant, informal way.” — New York Sun. 

“ It is a book that "will stir the heart of every boy and 
will prove interesting as well to the adults.” —Lawrence 
Daily World. 

FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS 

“ Mr. Johnston has done faithful work in this volume, 
and his relation of battles, sieges and struggles of these 
famous Indians with the whites for the possession of 
America is a worthy addition to United States History.” 
— New York Marine Journal. 

FAMOUS SCOUTS 

“ It is the kind of a book that will have a great fascina¬ 
tion for boys and young men, and while it entertains them 
it will also present valuable information in regard to 
those who have left their impress upon the history of the 
country.” — The New London Day. 

FAMOUS PRIVATEERSMEN AND ADVEN¬ 
TURERS OF THE SEA 

“ The tales are more than merely interesting; they are 
entrancing, stirring the blood with thrilling force and 
bringing new zest to the never-ending interest in the 
dramas of the sea.” — The Pittsburgh Post. 

FAMOUS FRONTIERSMEN AND HEROES 
OF THE BORDER 

“ The accounts are not only authentic, but distinctly 
readable, making a book of wide appeal to all who love 
the history of actual adventure.” — Cleveland Leader. 

FAMOUS DISCOVERERS AND EXPLORERS 
OF AMERICA 

“ The book is an epitome of some of the wildest and 
bravest adventures of which the world has known and of 
discoveries which have changed the face of the old world 
as well as of the new.” — Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

A—4 




BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


HILDEGARDE- MARGARET SERIES 

By Laura E. Richards 
Eleven Volumes 

The Hildegarde-Margaret Series, beginning with 
“ Queen Hildegarde ” and ending with “ The Merry- 
weathers,” make one of the best and most popular series 
of books for girls ever written. 

Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 

per volume . . . . . . . $1.35 

The eleven volumes boxed as a set . . . $14*85 

LIST OF TITLES 

QUEEN HILDEGARDE 

HILDEGARDE’S HOLIDAY 

HILDEGARDE’S HOME 

HILDEGARDE’S NEIGHBORS 

HILDEGARDE’S HARVEST 

THREE MARGARETS 

MARGARET MONTFORT 

PEGGY 

RITA 

FERNLEY HOUSE 

THE MERRYWEATHERS 
A—5 



THE PAGE COMP ANTS 


THE CAPTAIN JANUARY SERIES 

By Laura E. Richards 

Each one volume, 12mo, cloth decorative, illus¬ 
trated, 'per volume 60 cents 


CAPTAIN JANUARY 

A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose 
success has been very remarkable. 

SAME. Illustrated Holiday Edition . . $1.35 

MELODY: The Story of a Child. 

MARIE 

A companion to “ Melody ” and “ Captain J anuary.” 

ROSIN THE BEAU 

A sequel to “Melody” and “Marie.” 

SNOW-WHITE; Or, The House in the Wood. 

JIM OF HELLAS ; Or, In Durance Vile, and a 
companion story, Bethesda Pool. 

NARCISSA 

And a companion story. In Verona, being two delight¬ 
ful short stories of New England life. 

" SOME SAY” 

And a companion story. Neighbors in Cyrus. 

NAUTILUS 

“ ‘ Nautilus ’ is by far the best product of the author’s 
powers, and is certain to achieve the wide success it so 
richly merits.” 

ISLA HERON 

This interesting story is written in the author’s usual 
charming manner. 

THE LITTLE MASTER 

“ A well told, interesting tale of a high character.” — 
California Gateway Gazette. 

A —6 



BOOKS FOB YOUNG PEOPLE 


DELIGHTFUL BOOKS FOR LITTLE 
FOLKS 

By Laura E. Richards 

THREE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, 12mo, with eight plates in full color 
and many text illustrations . . . . $1.85 

“ Little ones will understand and delight in the stories 
and poems.” — Indianapolis News. 

FIVE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.35 

A charming collection of short stories and clever poems 
for children. 

MORE FIVE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.35 

A noteworthy collection of short stories and poems 
for children, which will prove as popular with mothers 
as with boys and girls. 

FIVE MICE IN A MOUSE TRAP 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.35 

The story of their lives and other wonderful things 
related by the Man in the Moon, done in the vernacular 
from the lunacular form by Laura E. Richards. 

POLLYANNA ANNUAL NO. I 

Trade Mark 

The Yearly GLAD Book. 

Trade" '“Mark 
Edited by Florence Orville. 

Large octavo, with nearly 200 illustrations, 12 in full 
color, bound with an all-over pictorial cover design in 
colors, with fancy printed end papers. $1.50 

“ The contents of this splendid volume are evidently 
intended to demonstrate the fact that work is as good 
a glad game as play if gone about the right way. There 
are clever little drawings any one could imitate, and in 
imitating learn something. There are adventurous tales, 
fairy tales, scientific tales, comic stories and serious 
stories in verse and prose.” — Montreal Herald and Star. 
A—7 





t 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


THE BOYS’ STORY OF THE 
RAILROAD SERIES 

By Burton E. Stevenson 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume ....... $1.50 

THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND; Or, The Ad¬ 
ventures or Allan West. 

“ The whole range of section railroading is covered in 
the story.” — Chicago Post. 

THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER 

“ A vivacious account of the varied and often hazard¬ 
ous nature of railroad life.” — Congregationalist. 

THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ It is a book that can be unreservedly commended to 
anyone who loves a good, wholesome, thrilling, informing 
yarn.” — Passaic News. 

THE YOUNG APPRENTICE; Or, Allan West s 
Chum. 

“The story is intensely interesting.” — Baltimore Sun. 

STORIES BY 
BREWER CORCORAN 

Each, one volume, 12mo, cloth decorative, illus¬ 
trated, per volume . . . . . . $1.50 

THE BOY SCOUTS OF KENDALLVILLE 

Published with the approval of “ The Boy Scouts of 
America.” 

The story of a bright young factory worker who can¬ 
not enlist because he has three dependents, but his 
knowledge of woodcraft and wig-wagging gained through 
Scout practice enables him to foil a German plot to blow 
up the munitions factory. 

THE BARBARIAN; Or, Will Bradford’s School 
Days at St. Jo’s. 

“ This is a splendid story of friendship, study and 
sport, winding up with a perfectly corking double play.” 
— Springfield Union. 

A—8 




BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS 

(Trade Mark) 

By Annie Fellows Johnston 
Each large 12mo, cloth, illustrated, per volume . SI.50 

THE LITTLE COLONEL STORIES 

(Trade Mark) 

Being three “ Little Colonel ” stories in the Cosy Corner 
Series, “ The Little Colonel,” “ Two Little Knights of 
Kentucky,” and “ The Giant Scissors,” in a single volume. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HOUSE PARTY 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HOLIDAYS 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HERO 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING- 

(Trade Mark) 

SCHOOL 

THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS 

(Trade Mark) 

VACATION 

THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HONOR 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S KNIGHT COMES 

(Trade Mark) 

RIDING 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S CHUM, MARY 

WARE (Trade Mark) 

MARY WARE IN TEXAS 
MARY WARE’S PROMISED LAND 

These twelve volumes, boxed as a set, $18.00. 

A—9 



THE FACE COMPANY'S 


SPECIAL HOLIDAY EDITIONS 

Each small quarto , cloth decorative, per volume . $1.35 

New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page 
drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL 

(Trade Mark) 

TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 
THE GIANT SCISSORS 
BIG BROTHER 

THE JOHNSTON JEWEL SERIES 

Each small 16mo, cloth decorative , with frontispiece 

and decorative text borders, per volume $0.60 

IN THE DESERT OF WAITING: The Legend 

op Camelback Mountain. 

THE THREE WEAVERS: A Fairy Tale for 
Fathers and Mothers as Well as for Their 
Daughters. 

KEEPING TRYST: A Tale of King Arthur’s 
Time. 

THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART 
THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME: 

A Fairy Play for Old and Young. 

THE JESTER’S SWORD 


THE LITTLE COLONEL’S GOOD TIMES 
BOOK 

Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series . $1.50 

Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . 3.00 

Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg. 

“ A mighty attractive volume in which the owner may 
record the good times she has on decorated pages, and 
under the directions as it were of Annie Fellows John¬ 
ston.” — Buffalo Express. 

A—10 





BOOKS FOB YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK — 

First Series 

Quarto, boards, printed in colors . . , $1.50 

A series of “ Little Colonel ” dolls. Each has several 
changes of costume, so they can be appropriately clad 
for the rehearsal of any scene or incident in the series. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK- 
Second Series 

Quarto, boards, printed in colors . . . $1.50 

An artistic series of paper dolls, including not only 
lovable Mary Ware, the Little Colonel’s chum, but many 
another of the much loved characters which appear in 
the last three volumes of the famous “ Little* Colonel 
Series.” 

ASA HOLMES 

By Annie Fellows Johnston. 

With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery. 

16mo, cloth decorative, gilt top . . . $1.00 

“ ‘ Asa Holmes ’ is the most delightful, most sympa¬ 
thetic and wholesome book that has been published in a 
long while.” — Boston Times. 

TRAVELERS FIVE: ALONG LIFE’S HIGH¬ 
WAY 

By Annie Fellows Johnston. 

With an introduction by Bliss Carman, and a frontis¬ 
piece by E. H. Garrett. 

12mo, cloth decorative . . . . . . $1.25 

“ Mrs. Johnston broadens her reputation with this book 
so rich in the significance of common things.” — Boston 
Advertiser. 

JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE 

By Annie Fellows Johnston. 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . .$1.50 

“ The book is a very clever handling of the greatest 
event in the history of the world.” — Rochester t N. Y. t 
Herald. 

A—11 



THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


THE BOYS’ STORY OF THE ARMY 
SERIES 

By Florence Kimball Russel 

BORN TO THE BLUE 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

“ The story deserves warm commendation and genuine 
popularity.”— Army and Navy Register . 

IN WEST POINT GRAY 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

“ One of the best books that deals with West Point.”— 
New York Sun. 

FROM CHEVRONS TO SHOULDER. 
STRAPS 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

“ The life of a cadet at West Point is portrayed very 
realistically.”— The Hartford Post, Hartford, Conn. 

DOCTOR’S LITTLE GIRL SERIES 

By Marion Ames Taggart 

Each large 12mo, cloth, illustrated, 'per volume , $1.50 

THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE GIRL 

“ A charming story of the ups and downs of the life 
of a dear little maid.”— The Churchman. 

SWEET NANCY: The Further Adventures of 
the Doctor’s Little Girl. 

“Just the sort of book to amuse, while its influence 
cannot but be elevating.”— New York Sun. 

NANCY, THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE PARTNER 

“ The jtory is sweet and fascinating, such as many 
girls of wholesome tastes will enjoy.”— Springfield Union. 

NANCY PORTER’S OPPORTUNITY 

“ Nancy shows throughout that she is a splendid young 
woman, with plenty of pluck.”— Boston Globe. 

NANCY AND THE COGGS TWINS 

“The story is refreshing.” —New York Sun. 

A—12 



BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


WORKS OF EVALEEN STEIN 

THE CHRISTMAS PORRINGER 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by Adelaide 

Everhart.. .$1.25 

This story happened many hundreds of years ago in 
the quaint Flemish city of Bruges and concerns a little 
girl named Karen, who worked at lace-making with her 
aged grandmother. 

GABRIEL AND THE HOUR BOOK 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and 
decorated in colors by Adelaide Everhart . . $1.25 

“No works in juvenile fiction contain so many of the 
elements that stir the hearts of children and grown-ups as 
well as do the stories so admirably told by this author.” 

— Louisville Daily Courier. 

A LITTLE SHEPHERD OF PROVENCE 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by Diantha 

H. Marlowe.$1.25 

“ The story should be one of the influences in the life 
of every child to whom good stories can be made to 
appeal.” — Public Ledger. 

THE LITTLE COUNT OF NORMANDY 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by John Goss $1.25 
“ This touching and pleasing story is told with a wealth 
of interest coupled with enlivening descriptions of the 
country where its scenes are laid and of the people thereof.” 

— Wilmington Every Evening. 


THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 

By Margaret R. Piper, author of “ Sylvia Arden,” 
“ Sylvia of the Hill Top,” “ Sylvia Arden Decides,” etc. 
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

“ It is a bright, entertaining story, with happy young 
folks, good times, natural development, and a gentle 
earnestness of general tone.” — The Christian Register, 
Boston. 

A—13 





it*—mannm 


THE PAGE COMPANY>& 


HISTORICAL BOOKS 

THE BOYS OF ’ 61; Or,, Four Years or Fighting. 

By Charles Carleton Coffin. 

Extra Illustrated Edition. An entirely new edition, 
cloth decorative, 8vo, with nearly two hundred illus¬ 
trations ........ $2.00 

Regular Edition. Cloth decorative, 12mo, with eight 
illustrations . . . . . . . $1.35 

A record of personal observation with the Army and 
Navy, from the Battle of Bull Run to the fall of Rich¬ 
mond. 

THE BOYS OF 1812; And Other Naval Heroes. 
By James Russell Soley. 

Cloth, 8vo, illustrated $2.00 

“ The book is full of stirring incidents and adven¬ 
tures.” — Boston Herald. 

THE SAILOR BOYS OF ’61 

By James Russell Soley. 

Cloth, 8vo, illustrated $2.00 

“ It is written with an enthusiasm that never allows 
the interest to slacken.”— The Call, Newark, N. J. 

BOYS OF FORT SCHUYLER 

By James Otis. 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.25 
“ It is unquestionably one of the best historical Indian 
stories ever written.”— Boston Herald. 

FAMOUS WAR STORIES 

By Charles Carleton Coffin 
Each cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, per vol., $1.25 

WINNING HIS WAY 

A story of a young soldier in the Civil War. 

MY DAYS AND NIGHTS ON THE BAT- 
TLE FIELD 

A story of the Battle of Bull Run and other battles in 
Kentucky, Tennessee, and on the Mississippi. 

FOLLOWING THE FLAG 

A story of the Army of the Potomac in the Civil Wan 
A—U 




BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE SANDMAN SERIES 

Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume . . . . . . . $1.50 

By William J. Hopkins 

THE SANDMAN; His Farm Stories. 

“ Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take 
the little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories 
will find this book a treasure.” — Cleveland Leader . 

THE SANDMAN: More Farm Stories. 

“ Children will call for these stories over and over 
again.” — Chicago Evening Post. 

THE SANDMAN I His Ship Stories. 

“ Little ones will understand and delight in the stories 
and their parents will read between the lines and recog¬ 
nize the poetic and artistic work of the author.” — 
Indianapolis News. 

THE SANDMAN: His Sea Stories. 

“ Once upon a time there was a man who knew little 
children and the kind of stories they liked, so he wrote 
four books of Sandman’s stories, all about the farm or 
the sea, and the brig Industry, and this book is one of 
them.” — Canadian Congregationalist. 

By Jenny Wallis 

THE SANDMAN: His Songs and Rhymes. 

“ Here is a fine collection of poems for mothers and 
friends to use at the twilight hour. They are not of the 
soporific kind especially. They are wholesome reading 
when most wide-awake and of such a soothing and deli¬ 
cious flavor that they are welcome when the lights are 
low.” — Christian Intelligence. 

A —U 



THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


THE SANDMAN SERIES 

( continued) 

By Harry W. Frees 

THE SANDMAN: His Animal Stories. 

“ They are written in a style that will appeal most 
strongly to children, and the promise of a Sandman 
story before retiring will be found an adequate relief to 
many a tired mother. The simplicity of the stories and 
the fascinating manner in which they are written make 
them an excellent night cap for the youngster who is 
easily excited into wakefulness.” — Pittsburgh Leader. 
THE SANDMAN: His Kittycat Stories. 

“ The Sandman is a wonderful fellow. First he told 
farm stories, then ship stories, then sea stories. And 
now he tells stories about the kittens and the fun they 
had in Kittycat Town. A strange thing about these 
kittens is the ability to talk, work and play like boys and 
girls, and that is why all of the little tots will like the 
Sandman’s book, which has thirty-two illustrations re¬ 
produced from photographs taken by the author.” — 
Pittsburgh Chronicle Telegraph. 

THE SANDMAN: His Bunny Stories. 

“ The whole book is filled with one tale after another 
and is narrated in such a pleasing manner as to reach 
the heart of every child.” — Common Sense, Chicago. 

By W. S. Phillips 
(El Comancho) 

THE SANDMAN: His Indian Stories. 

No Sandman is properly equipped without a fund of 
Indian tales, for the lure of the feathered head-dress, 
the tomahawk and the wampum belt is irresistible to 
the small boy. The Indian tales for this Celebrated 
Series of Children’s Bedtime Stories have been written 
by a man who has Indian blood, who spent years of his 
life among the Redmen in one of the tribes of which 
he is an honored member and who is an expert inter¬ 
preter of the Indian viewpoint and a practised authority 
on all Indiana as well as a master teller of tales, 

A—16 



BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES 

(trade mark) 

Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in 
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover, 
per volume, 60 cents 

LIST OF TITLES 

By Col. F. A. Postnikov, Isaac Taylor 
Headland, LL. D., Edward C. 

Butler, etc. 


Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Alaskan Cousin 
Our Little Arabian Cousin 
Our Little Argentine Cousin 
Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Australian Cousin 
Our Little Austrian Cousin 
Our Little Belgian Cousin 
Our Little Bohemian Cousin 
Our Little Boer Cousin 
Our Little Brazilian Cousin 
Our Little Bulgarian Cousin 
Our Little Canadian Cousin 
of the Maritime Provinces 
Our Little Chinese Cousin 
Our Little Cossack Cousin 
Our Little Cuban Cousin 
Our Little Danish Cousin 
Our Little Dutch Cousin 
Our Little Egyptian Cousin 
Our Little English Cousin 
Our Little Eskimo Cousin 
Our Little Finnish Cousin 
Our Little French Cousin 
Our Little German Cousin 
Our Little Grecian Cousin 
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 
A—17 


Our Little Hindu Cousin 
Our Little Hungarian Cousin 
Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Irish Cousin 
Our Little Italian Cousin 
Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 
Our Little Korean Cousin 
Our Little Malayan (Brown) 
Cousin 

Our Little Mexican Cousin 
Our Little Norwegian Cousin 
Our Little Panama Cousin 
Our Little Persian Cousin 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Polish Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Portuguese Cousin 
Our Little Roumanian Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 
Our Little Scotch Cousin 
Our Little Servian Cousin 
Our Little Siamese Cousin 
Our Little Spanish Cousin 
Our Little Swedish Cousin 
Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 



THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


THE LITTLE COUSINS OF LONG 
AGO SERIES 

The volumes in this series describe the boys and girls 
of ancient times. 

Each small 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated 60c. 

OUR LITTLE ATHENIAN COUSIN OF 
LONG AGO 

By J ULiA Darrow Cowles. 


OUR LITTLE CARTHAGINIAN COUSIN 
OF LONG AGO 

By Clara V. Winlow. 

OUR LITTLE FRANKISH COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Evaleen Stein. 

OUR LITTLE MACEDONIAN COUSIN OF 
LONG AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE NORMAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Evaleen Stein. 

OUR LITTLE ROMAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE SAXON COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE SPARTAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE VIKING COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Charles H. L. Johnston. 

IN PREPARATION 


OUR LITTLE CELTIC COUSIN OF LONG AGO 
A—18 















































































